


Rock and Roll Chose Me

by Kellyscams



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Physical Therapy, Piercings, Rimming, Skinny!Steve, Smoking, Tattoos, Top!Bucky, bottom!Steve, punkrock!bucky, switch!steve/bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which skinny!Steve--cosplaying, comic reading, anime loving, all around geek--is studying for his Masters in Art at Pratt university and happens to bump into Clint Barton, an old friend of his who's now roommates with Bucky Barnes, the lead singer of a pretty kick ass punk rock cover band, the Winter Soldiers. Thing is, neither Steve nor Bucky are what they seem. </p>
<p>Steve is vivacious, outspoken, and what he lacks in size he most definitely makes up for in personality. He's not really interested in finding anyone serious, but knows what it means to make a commitment work. Bucky, sporting tattoos and piercings and owns the fucking stage like it's nobody's business, is goofy and dorky, shy and bashful, with a habit of falling in love yet has a horrible fear of commitment; go figure. </p>
<p>So what <i>does</i> happens when vivacious geek meets shy punk rocker?  The first answer is a lot of sex. The second answer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter Something Witty Here

**Author's Note:**

> So this was done for NaNoWriMo ((made the goal! 50,000 words done in 10 freaking days! Then completed in 12!! woohoo!)) The work _is_ completed. But! Since NaNoWriMo is about writing as much as you can as fast as you can, it's very rough and probably laced with tons and tons of mistakes and typos. So I'm going to be posting it bits at a time. Won't take me long to update since all I'm really going to be doing is running through for errors and typos and stuff as best I can. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!!

It’s a hole in the wall sort of place; sticky floors, wobbly tables, and plastic cups. Even if it’s a decent size, with enough room for a jukebox and a pool table, it’s still a hole in the wall. There’s a stage in the righthand corner, currently home to a set of drums, a guitar, a bass--both on stands and covered in various stickers--and a microphone stand sans microphone. A white sheet is pinned up on the wall behind it, gently flapping in the friendly breezes of the ceiling fans, likely covering up more evidence of just how shabby the place is. 

All in all, it’s not the _worst_ bar Steve’s gone to, but it does come in the top five at least. He’ll claim he was dragged here later--which is partially true. Sam did interrupt him while working on a project which is why Steve’s hands and jeans are still splattered with paint. But in all honesty, Steve doesn’t really _mind_ being in places like this. It’s got character, history in the walls, secrets in the corners, leftover whispers from countless years of bodies pressed against them. 

“So’s this band any good?” He asks Sam, his eyes trailing over the instruments on the stage again.

That is, after all, supposedly why they’re here. To check out this band Sam had told them about--he and their friend Sharon, who’s currently at the bar buying herself a drink. 

Sam is idolly running his index finger around the rim of his cup when he answers, “Dunno.” He stops fidgeting with his cup and finally takes a drink. “Chick from my four o’clock class was talking about them. Thought it’d be cool to check em’ out,” His eyes lift and glares into Steve, “and _not_ stay cooped in on a Friday night.”

Steve scoffs. “You act like I _want_ to be cooped up. Not my fault this semester’s been brutal.”

That’s nothing but the truth. His first semester in Pratt Institute’s Master of Fine Arts program had started off brutal, and continued in the same downward trajectory. All in all, school, combined with the added _attempts_ at working a few nights a week in the campus’ coffee shop, Steve has very little down time. Enter Sam Wilson, best friend and subtle reminder-er that Steve needs to take some time to relax. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam waves him off. “We all know you’d ditch us all to hold up in some studio with your paints so you can make out with them.”  
“Who’s Steve making out with now?” Sharon wonders as she joins them, drink in hand and lips pursed in a grin. “Anyone I know?”  
“Ey!” Steve exclaims. “I haven’t made out with someone in, like… what’s today?”  
Sharon blows a raspberry through her lips and shakes her head. “Yeah, exactly.”  
“Still don’t get how a skinny, little shrimp likes you gets so much booty.” Sam shakes his head as though he’s actually slighted by this. “What’s your secret, man?”

With a chuckle, Steve just shrugs, adjusts his thick glasses, and takes a sip of his own drink, letting his gaze seek out something bright and friendly to distract himself from his friends’ teasing. His eyes settle on the jukebox, the flashing screen informing patrons close enough what songs are inside. Currently, The Who is pumping through the speakers. 

_Why don’t you all f-f-fade away?_

“It’s the eyes.” Sharon states from next to him. “Totally endearing, innocent. And it’s all a big fat lie, cause there is _nothing_ innocent about you.”

She takes hold of Steve’s chin, gives it a squeeze and a shake. They dated a long time ago. High school long time ago. If that even counts anymore, considering it was Freshman year. Ninth grade hardly seems to count, even if they did make out a lot, and one drunken rendezvous first their first year in college doesn’t count either. 

“Aw, shucks, Shar,” Steve coos. “S’not my fault people never take that expression seriously.”  
“And what expression would that be?” Sam asks.  
“You know, that one about the quiet ones?”  
“Ha!” Sam exclaims. “We were roommates for two years, buddy. Hate to burst your bubble, but there’s _nothing_ quiet about you.”  
“Oh fuck you.”  
“You kiss your mama with that mouth?”

Steve jabs Sam in the arm, who retaliates by grabbing the brim of his precious, knitted Pokemon cap and yanking it off his head.

“Hey! No!” Steve whines. “Sam! Not the hat!”  
Sam holds it far away from him, all the way behind his own back. “What’dya say, bud?”  
Holding his laced fingers under his chin, he pushes his bottom lip out. “Puh-lease! Sammy? Gimme my hat back?”  
“Ah, damn, you’re too much, kid.” He flings the hat back at him. “You’re right, Sharon. It is those eyes. Good luck to whoever gets stuck with him.”  
“Dunno _what_ you’re talking about.” Steve replies as he carefully reapplies the cap to his head, covering his messy locks of golden-brown hair. “I’m a fucking angel.”  
“Yeah, yeah.” Sharon laughs. “We know. I mean, really, Steven,” Her face suddenly gets quite serious. “Anyone would be lucky as gold to get you.”  
“ _Thanks_ , Sharon!” He sticks his tongue out at Sam. “See. At least _someone_ knows how awesome I am.”  
“Hey, no foolin, kid. I know how awesome you are. Doesn’t mean I could put up with you. But here’s the secret. It’s just ‘cause I couldn’t resist that little face of yours.”  
Steve can feel the blush that fills his face. “Aw, you guys are too fucking much tonight.” He shakes his head though. “You know, I don’t really know what I’m looking for right now. Between school and trying to make some money… I can’t handle anything serious. Some fucking sex would be nice though. Dry spell and all.”  
Sharon rolls her eyes. “What’s dry spell for you?”  
“Uh… three… weeks?”  
“For fuck’s sakes, Steve!” Sam laughs.

Sam opens his mouth again, about to say something else, but closes it before anything comes out. Eyes going wide and lips stretching into a smile, he points towards the stage. The band is there now, setting up. Three people, two young women and a young man. 

The girl setting up her drums has her dark hair in a pixie cut, a streak of blue cut through the front right side. There’s already a bit of sweat accumulating on her olive-toned skin. Which is probably why she’s shed her red leather jacket, leaving only her grey-tank top, printed with a black jolly roger with a pink bow on top. She fiddles with her tongue, playing with the metal piece inside of it as she fixes her seat to where she wants it. The other girl has super bright red hair, piled in an almost messy ponytail high on her head, lots of tufts falling down around her face. She’s fussing with the bass, tuning so far as Steve can tell, but then, Steve doesn’t know all that much about instruments. She has a nose ring, a little hoop through her right nostril and several piercing up her left ear. There’s a necklace around her neck and if Steve squints, he thinks it might be an arrow. She’s wearing a Ramones’ tanktop, the bottom just pulled over the top of her black skirt. Fishnet stockings cover her legs and her red platform boots add at least two inches to her. 

The guy, well, he has his back to all of them, but he’s wearing a black leather jacket and tight blue jeans. Not skinny jeans like Steve is wearing, but they’re tight enough that Steve can appreciate his nice ass when he bends down to move a few wires around. His hair is dark brown, shiny and smooth, loose, and hangs down to about his jawline. He’s saying something to the two ladies, maybe giving instructions. The red head flips him off and even with his back turned, Steve can tell he laughs at the gesture. 

Over at the drums, the girl flicks her tongue ring again and then her eyes light up like she’s recognized something. Or someone. She brings her index and middle fingers to her the edge of her brow and gives a salute. From next to Steve, he can see Sam raise his hand in a greeting. 

“That’s the girl.” he leans over and whispers. “At the drums. From my class.”  
“Well shit.” Steve chuckles. “You have a crush on her, don’t you?”  
“What? A crush? What’re we? Twelve?”  
Steve grins. “Do you _like_ like her?” He teases. “No, for real. You do, don’t you?”  
“No, I… oh.” He shakes his head. “Why’d you gotta notice everything?”  
Sharon laughs. “You didn’t even know that, did you?”  
“I…” Sam sighs a laugh. “I don’t think I did. Fuck.”  
“Isn’t it super fun having Steve around?” Sharon asks. “Glad you asked him out, huh?”  
“Eh, I guess I missed having the little smart ass around.”

Steve gives them both a big, cheesy grin, shimmies in his seat a bit. He tells them that he’s missed them, misses going out with them on the weekend--most weekdays too--drinks and parties, hooking up with friends, strangers, clubs and dancing and sex. It’s been so long. Okay, two months isn’t all that long, but when it’s two months of nothing but work, work, work, it feels like years. Steve would say more, but something in front of the stage catches his eye. Someone, actually. 

He stares for a moment, just to make sure, but there’s no way it can’t be who he thinks it is. Steve can’t see his face quite clearly, but he’s got his dirty blonde hair cut short at the sides and the front softly spiked up. Guy’s got a faded purple a-shirt on, so Steve can see clearly an array of tattoos on his arms and and some on his chest, but the one that stands out most is the bullseye with the arrow across it on his left shoulder. That tattoo, can’t be too many people running around with that one. 

“No way.” he murmurs to himself. “Hang on, guys. I’ll be right back.”

Steve slips off his seat and makes his way over to the front of the stage, gives the guy a light kick in the ass even though he’s in the middle of saying something to the redhead. He grabs his behind and spins around, face scandalized and maybe getting ready for a fight. But when he sees Steve’s smiling face, his jaw drops open. 

“Get the hell outta here!” He exclaims. “Steve fucking Rogers!”  
“Clint Barton!” Steve greets back. “How the fuck are you?”  
“Jesus! I’m great! How long’s it been?”  
Steve shrugs. “Other than Facebook? My Senior year maybe? Summer after?”  
“You’re still in Brooklyn, right?”  
“Yeah. Just started the Master’s program at Pratt.”  
“Cool beans, dude.” Clint says, then grabs the brim of Steve’s hat like Sam had, only instead of taking off, he pulls it down so that it covers Steve’s eyes. “Still see you’re permanently attached to this rag.”  
“Hey, hey! Hands off the merch, man! This is my lucky fucking hat!”  
Clint lets go. “Still curse like a sailor too, huh?”  
“Fuck yeah.” Steve laughs. “Why change what’s worked?”  
“Hello! _Earth_ to Bucky!”

Both Steve and Clint turn towards the sound of the shrill, annoyed voice coming from the stage. The redhead has yelled, at the guy up on stage presumably, since he’s now fumbling about with the microphone stand and trying, a bit unsuccessfully, to pretend that he’s not staring at Steve. Steve cracks a grin at him, flick his eyebrows up too, and the guy just stands there, like he’s frozen. 

“Bucky, what the _fuck_ are you doing?”  
“Jesus, Tasha,” He mumbles, clearly thawed by her voice again. “I’m…”  
“Stop ogling the pretty guy, finish what you’re doing and ask Clint for his number later, kay?” She pops a bubble with her pink gum. “This way we can get this show on the road.”  
“Oh my God.” 

Bucky covers his face and turns around. Steve thinks he might hear him say that he hates her, thinks she says he actually loves her. He _does_ hear Clint laugh.

“Come on, buddy.” He says. “Lemme buy you a drink. We’ll catch up.”  
“Yeah, cool.” Steve agrees and let’s Clint lead the way to the bar.  
“Hey, Fury!” Clint calls to the bartender, a balding black man with an eyepatch. “Let me get two beers for my friend and me.”  
“Is that how you ask, Barton?” Fury responds. “You think I’m gonna let you keep coming into SHIELD for free if you don’t start asking nicely?”  
Clint twists his lips. “Yeah, yeah. My apologies, boss. Would you get my friend and me two beers, please?”  
“That’s more like it.” He responds as he pulls out two bottles of beer and places them on the bar. “Don’t say I never did nothing for you.”  
“Do you work here?” Steve asks, taking a seat on the stool next to Clint, having to almost climb up on it.  
Clint shakes his head, taking a swig of his drink before answering. “Nah. Not here. Just for Fury. He owns a few places around the city. Including that new club, SHIELD? You heard of it?” Steve has; he nods. “Yeah, I do promotion for him.”  
“So you know the band?” Steve asks. 

Clint smiles and nods, starts pointing them out, one by one. 

“Yeah, the guy, that’s Bucky. He’s my roommate. Cool guy. Talent coming out the ass. The dummer, she’s Maria. She’s studying criminal justice at…”  
“John Jay,” Steve finishes for him. “Yeah. My buddy Sam has a class with her. Think he’s gotta thing for her, too.”  
“No kidding? Maria’s fucking awesome. Real hardass. Sam better not try any shit if he’s gonna make a move. She won’t take any crap.”  
“Eh, Sam’s not the game playing type.”  
Clint laughs. “Good to know. The redhead’s Natasha. Nat, my girlfriend.” 

He flicks the arrow earring in his right ear, an absent move, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. 

“Know what she does when she’s not doing the band thing?”  
“No, what?”  
“She’s a ballerina!”  
“No shit?”  
“For real! She’s a fucking ballerina! New York City Ballet Company and everything!”  
“Holy shit!” 

They continue to talk for a little while longer, catching up on lost years like not a day has gone by that hasn’t included an interaction between them. Turns out Clint is still taking in every stray he comes across, even with a roommate. He’s gotten himself new hearing aids that apparently only need one battery per year, _a huge money saver_ Clint tells him. Despite being three years older, two grades above Steve, Clint held the same crowd as him. They talk about who they’ve kept in touch with--their friends Tony and Pepper who just recently announced their engagement, Bruce who’s just been accepted to medical school, Betty has just graduated with an engineering degree, and Jane’s decision to study astrophysics. There’s reminiscing on old times; classes they happened to share, teaches they liked, didn’t like, cutting gym, prom. Clint asks if he’s still _majorly_ , as he puts it, into anime and manga and graphic novels. Answers: Yes, yes, and yes. Steve’s studied various forms of animation and graphic design, including comic art and storyboarding. Clint listens intently to Steve’s explanation to his ideas for his first school exhibit and Steve promises that he’ll show up at SHIELD whenever he’s promoting. 

They’re so wrapped up in talking that when the dim lights suddenly get dimmer, Steve is confused for a moment, forgetting that he’s actually there to see a band perform. And that he initially came with Sam and Sharon, who are still at the table somewhere, but he can no longer see them since the place has gotten ridiculously packed sometime during his conversation with Clint. They’re gonna be annoyed with him. They’ll forgive him after some shameless groveling. 

“Hello, everybody.” Bucky says into the microphone, lips right up against it as though it’s his lover. “We’re the Winter Soldiers.”

People start cheering. Loud. Very loud. So loud that it startles Steve. Clint just laughs at his reaction. 

“Wow!” Steve says over the shouting. “Do they have fans?”  
“Hell yeah! They’re good! I mean, they mostly do punk rock covers right now, you know? I think they’re doing lots of Beatles tonight. But they’re good! Girls go gaga for Bucky, too!”

Music starts up. Quick, upbeat and familiar tempo. Steve immediately recognizes the song, and also why anyone would go gaga for Bucky as soon as he starts singing. 

_“Oh I’ll, I’ll tell you something; I think you’ll understand…”_

His voice is honey, thick and sweet, slowly spreading over everything it touches. 

_“When I say that something; I wanna hold your hand!”_

He owns that stage. Steve can sense it already. Knows that no matter what life might throw at that guy, the stage, in front of a microphone, with that guitar in his hands, his fingers plucking the strings with perfect expertise, it’s where he belongs.

_“Oh please say to me; you'll let me be your man…”_

Bucky’s quite beautiful. It’s strange that Steve didn’t notice it before. He’s not sure why he didn’t. That leather jacket’s the only thing he has over his upper body, so Steve can see all the tattoos on his chest. They run up to his neck, including even an old fashioned looking microphone. 

_“And please say to mean; you’ll let me hold you hand! Now let me hold your hand! I wanna hold you hand.”_

He’s pierced, too. There’re spacers in both his ears. His nose has a black ring in the left nostril, tightly pressed up against it. A barbell goes through his left eyebrow, moving slightly when as he sings. And there’s a lot of expression in his face as he sings. 

_“And when I touch you I feel happy inside. It’s such a feeling that my love. I can’t hide. I can’t hide. I can’t hide!”_

Clint’s right. They are pretty good. It’s not surprising they have fans. Steve laughs when Bucky throws kisses and girls start to scream. Maybe he’ll be a big rock star one day, have girls flinging themselves at him. He wonders if they ever write their own stuff. 

He tries to ask him, but between the music and Clint’s hearing condition, he can’t really get the answer. By the time their first set is done, there are six empty beer bottles in front of Steve, twelve if he counts Clint’s. The room’s beginning to spin and there’s a loud ringing in his ears from all the yelling and the loud music.

“Whoa…” He spits a giggle and starts laughing hard. “Shit, I shouldn’t have had so much.”  
“Sorry, buddy.” Clint laughs and slaps a hand on his shoulder. “I kept buying. Oh, man, I remember drunk Steve. Man, you really _haven’t_ changed. You want me to find your friends?”  
“Uh…” Steve looks out into the crowd. He has zero idea where Sam and Sharon are anymore. “Damn.”  
“Here,” Clint holds his hand out. “Gimme your phone.”

Steve fishes it out of the back of his pocket, watches as Clint goes through it and then holds it up to his ear. He holds one hand against his free ear and then speaks loudly into the mouth piece. 

“Not Steve, Steve’s phone! He’s by the bar!”

Clint shoots his arm up in the air, starts waving it back and forth. Within a few moments, Steve spots Sam and Sharon making their way up to the bar and he starts waving along with Clint.

“Hey!” Steve shouts. “There you are!”  
“Here _we_ are?” Sam says. “You’re the one who disappeared on us!”  
“Mmm…” He groans, leans forward and rests his head on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I got caught up with Clint.”  
“Who?”  
“Clint. Me. Hi.” Clint holds a hand out. “Sorry. It’s my fault.”  
Sam shakes his hand. “Hey, how’ya doing. You guys know each other?”  
“They do!” Sharon exclaims. “Clint Barton! Steve, you dick! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you ran into Clint!”  
“Hey! Sharon Carter! How the hell are you? Steve! You didn’t tell me you were with Sharon!”  
Steve moans again, turning his head, still on Sam’s shoulder, to face them. “Stop yelling at me. Everyone’s yelling at me.”  
She rolls her eyes at him. “Are you really that drunk?”  
“No.” He closes his eyes. “I’m just faking so you’ll go easy on me. Is it working?”  
Sharon scoffs. “No. Come on. Let’s get you home.”

He pouts a little and slides off the stool, holding his arms out so that they’ll hold onto him, just like he know they will. If there’s one thing he knows about his friends, it’s that they’ll dote upon him when he plays it up. Both of them put arms around him, making sure to hold him up as if he’s going to fall over. He’s not, but he still lets them do it anyway. 

“Hey, you got my number in your phone, Steve.” Clint tells him before they start to leave. “And I took yours, kay? I’m calling you during the week.” He means that. “We’re making plans. Catching up for real.”  
“Fuck yeah.” Steve gives him a thumbs up. “Sounds like a plan.”

Steve is in between his two friends, both of them probably big enough to carry him, as they all head outside to hail a cab. It only take a few tries, two pass, one off duty, one just goes by. When they climb in the back, Steve’s smiling, cheek cuddled up against Sharon’s shoulder, legs draped over Sam’s lap, Beatles pumping through his head. 

~~

Bucky’s in love.

Head over heels. Fairy tale. Story book. One hundred percent in love. 

There are only two problems standing in the way of letting his epic love story unfold. 

Problem number one: He knows absolutely nothing about the guy he’s madly in love with. 

Problem number two: The person who _does_ know all about him is refusing to share any information at all with him.

It’s quite the tragic situation.

Bucky hangs upside down on the couch, the ends of his hair brushing the shaggy carpet and his barefeet swaying from side to side, just subtly, not so subtly, towards Clint’s face as he tries to read the newspaper. Why Clint reads the newspaper, Bucky’s not sure. He can easily just read the news on his phone or his laptop and save a few trees. One would think that with all the saving he does--the damn dogs he’s always bringing home with him--he’d be into saving a tree or two. Well, at least they use the papers in the kitchen. For the dogs. 

“Bucky, I swear to fuck, if you don’t cut that out I’m going to break them off.”

Caught red handed. Or footed. Whatever. To avoid having his feet broken, Bucky grunts and flips so that he’s upright, combing his fingers through his hair quickly to get it out of his face. He sits quietly for about two seconds before hopping onto his feet on the cushion to a crouched position. Clint bobs back and forth and sighs. 

“Clint!” Bucky whines. “Please!”  
“No!”  
“Aw! Come on!”

Bucky shimmies his way behind Clint. He can suck up to his roommate, and he just needs, needs, _needs_ some information. His hands go straight for Clint’s shoulders and the tension there thaws under his gentle touch. A pleasant moan rises softly out of Clint’s mouth, his head tilting back just slightly. 

“Mm, right there, right there!” He demands when Bucky’s thumb lowers. 

Bucky continues what he’s doing, but wraps his left arm around the front of Clint’s chest. He presses his cheek into his and pouts. 

“Don’t…”  
“Please?” He whispers.  
“No.” Clint whispers back.  
“You are killing me.”

Bucky gets a hit in the face with the newspaper.

“I doubt that.”  
“No, you are. Just remember that when you find me. Dead on the floor. The rock star the could have been, James Buchanan Barnes’ untimely death was brought about just because his roommate kept him from his true love.”  
“I think I’ll take my chances.”  
“I hate you!”

He gets another whack with the paper. Clint’s never once even raised a newspaper to one of the dogs. He has, however, struck Bucky with them lots of times. 

“You do not.”  
Bucky sighs. Kisses the sides of Clint’s neck. “Okay fine. I don’t. But you’re causing me _pain_.” He collapses to the side behind him and grabs his chest. “Agony! Torment! Ow! Ow, ow, ow!”  
“Jesus Christ, Bucky, stop being so dramatic.”  
“I can’t! I don’t think you understand how serious this is!”

Clint scoffs and starts to roll up the newspaper. 

“No!” Bucky pretends to pleads, curling up in a ball on the couch. “Don’t roll it up! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”  
His roommate laughs and swats him in the ass with it anyway. “Aw, like I could ever hurt you.”  
“You are right now…” He grumbles and sticks his tongue out when Clint glares at him. “C’mon, Barton! _Why_? Why won’t you tell me anything about him?”  
“Because the less _you_ know about him, the better.”

Bucky heaves himself up and throws his head on Clint’s shoulder, flings an arm across his chest. 

“Oh, but he’s so _pre-et-ty_! Please! Please tell me _something_!”

Grunting, Clint grabs his face and pushes him off the couch. Playful. Snickering as he does. Hard enough that Bucky lands on his back on the floor laughing his ass off. He sits back up, pushing his hair out of his face.

“No, really, Clint, did I do something to piss you off? Something wrong?”

Clint groans now, like he feels bad, and sets the paper aside.

“No, Bucky, of course not. It’s just… look, that guy’s one of the nicest fucking kids I’ve ever known in my life.”  
Bucky flings his hands out. “What? I mean, are you saying I’m not a nice guy?”  
“No!” Clint chuckles and touches Bucky’s face. “You’re one of the sweetest guys I fucking know.”  
“Then what the fuck’s the problem?”  
“The problem…? The problem’s that you fall fast, right, Bucky? You fall fast, you fall hard, and then you freak the fuck out because you fell fast and hard and you leave a broken heart behind. I’ve seen you do it a hundred times. And I never fault you for that cause you got your shit to deal with and I get that, Bucky, I do, I really do, but I _can_ make sure that you don’t do it to him.”

Well, Bucky can never fault Clint for being a liar. And he’s right, too. He does do that. All of that. He has his reasons, like Clint’s pointed out. Reasons he’d rather not think about. But he’s never felt this before. Not for someone he’s never even talked to. That’s the God’s honest truth. 

“Okay. Okay, you’re right. But this one’s different. I swear.”  
“How the fuck can you possibly know that?”  
“I just _do_! I feel it! Inside! I’m so fucking serious, Barton! I swear! I promise! I’ll be so different with him!”  
“Like you were different with Nat?”  
“ _What_?! We dated for like two weeks! Freshman year! And Tasha broke up with me anyway!”  
Clint twists his lips at him. “Fine. I’ll give you that. What about me?”  
“You?! We just had sex!”  
“Yeah, but it was _good_ sex.” He comments, hands behind his head.  
“It _was_ good sex.” Bucky agrees with a chuckle. He gets on his knees and moves closer to the couch again. “Look, Clint, I get it. I’ve fucked up in the past. But… I dunno. You called me out on it. I’ll do right by this one. Best I can.” He crosses his heart. “Scouts honor.” When he gets a doubtful look, he flings his head in Clint’s lap. “Ah, please! I’m throwing myself at the mercy of the court here.”

Fingers make their way through Bucky’s hair and he lifts only his eyes to look up at his roommate. He’s giving Bucky a meaningful look, as though trying to judge whether or not he can really pull off his promise. 

“You listen to me, Barnes. I’m on his side. Start to finish.” Bucky’s eyes go wide, but he nods his head, still letting Clint run his fingers through his hair. “You hurt him, I’m gone. You find a new roommate, you dig?”  
“I got it.”  
“Like, our friendship is on the line with this. Do _not_ fuck up.”  
“Okay.” He whispers. “I won’t.”

Clint sucks in a deep breath, deep enough that it makes Bucky lift his chin up so he can get a good look at him, let him know that he’s absolutely genuine about this. 

“His name is Steve. Steve Rogers.” Clint tells him, guarded, like he’s still determining whether or not he finds Bucky worthy of this information. “Went to high school with ‘im. Graduated a few years after me. Smart as a whip. Skipped, like, two grades or something when he was little.”  
“How old is he?”  
“Twenty-two. He just started studying for his Masters at Pratt.”  
“Is he an artist?”  
“Yep. Ever since we were kids.”

Fuck. _Fuuck_. Bucky’s always had a soft spot for artsy kids. Certain artsy kids. Long fingers, seeings things that others don’t see, creating something out of nothing. Especially little ones that look like that, like Steve, as it turns out his name is. His eyes go to his left arm. Four years old. Metal, courtesy of the nifty minds over at Stark Industries. 

It’s been hell re-relearning how to use his fine motor skills, after switching one prosthetic for another. But this one is lighter, more functional, once he got used to it. And Bucky loves, absolutely _loves_ the paintings on it. All different doodles and drawings that he can wash off with a bit of paint stripper and start all over again. 

“Yeah,” Clint comments. “He can do amazing things for you there.”  
Now Bucky’s even more in love. “What else?”  
“Nah-ah. That’s all you get.”  
“What?!” Bucky shrieks. “Are you serious?”  
“Yep.” He slips his hand under Bucky’s chin. “Now, _if_ you’re still so enamored by the end of the week and _if_ you’re a good boy and very well-behaved,” Bucky huffs, makes a disgruntled face, but plays along anyway, “Then and _only_ then, will you get what you’re really after. Deal?”  
Bucky rolls his eyes. He has no other choice though. “Deal.”  
“Good. Now, go feed the dog.”  
“Ugh. You’re going to milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”  
“Course I am. Now scoot! Before I have you feeding me, too.”

Since he might, just _might_ be serious about the feeding him too part, Bucky hops to his feet and goes to feed the dog, Lucky--they’re all named Lucky, easier than having to remember name after name after name. Bucky scoops some food into his (her maybe? ) bowl and then plops down at the kitchen table, chin in his hand and silly grin on his face. 

Steve Rogers. Smart, skinny artist. Wears thick glasses in front of the most adorable, precious blue eyes and a very outdated Pokemon hat--brimmed, knitted--covering a mop of dark-golden hair. Steve Rogers. Hottest piece of ass Bucky Barnes has ever fucking seen. Steve Rogers. If Bucky doesn’t get a piece of him, his life really won’t be complete. 

***

One week. One torturous, tormenting week of being abused and worked by his so-called friend and roommate. No, really, Clint’s been a fucking saint. All he’s had him do is pick up after him. Of the two of them, Bucky’s the neater one, so really, it’s just been Bucky keeping his trap shut and not nagging him about picking up his dirty socks and putting his dirty dishes in the sink. Instead, he’s been doing it all himself. _And_ he’s not been allowed to talk about Steve or ask about Steve or even say the name Steve even though Steve has been the _only_ thing on Bucky’s mind. 

Bucky’s been good. He’s been so, so good. Counting the days down good. But now that it’s Friday, he has no idea if today marks the end of the week or if tomorrow does and if he’s allowed to even ask. Clint is supposed to be working tonight, bringing customers to SHIELD and such, and Bucky’s working, too. Not a gig, too bad, he’s working a shift at Panda House, finest Chinese Food in Brooklyn. Good bosses, fun co-workers, flexible hours. Pays the bills. Bucky doesn’t mind it. 

Busy night. Not unusual for a Friday, and good to keep a distracted mind busy. Bucky’s in the kitchen, sitting at the counter with his co-worker, Gabe, who’s very kindly been letting him chew his ear off about Steve all night. 

“Have you even had a conversation with the dude?” He asks Bucky.  
“No.”  
“And you’re in love with him?”  
“Love at first sight?”  
Gabe snorts. “You’re too much.”  
Bucky whines. “Okay, _maybe_ I’m exaggerating my feelings slightly. But _fuck_ me, Gabe, I’ve never seen anyone like this kid.”  
“God damn, kid, I can’t wait to see him.”

Bucky groans. At this rate, _he_ can’t wait just to get a glimpse of him again, _if_ that ever happens. Leave it up to Clint and it might not. He sighs, picks a bit at the dumplings on the plate between him and Gabe. He’s about to complain a bit more about Clint leaving him hanging when he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. Strictly speaking, they’re not _not_ allowed to use phones while on the clock. But it’s sorta frowned upon. So Bucky makes sure none of the bosses are around before yanking it out and seeing that he has a text from the very source of his complaints. He chuckles as he opens it. 

**Clint: Hey buds. What time do you get off tonite?**

Bucky quickly types up a reply.

**Bucky: 10:30. y?**

He keeps his phone in his hand. It usually doesn’t take long for Clint to respond when he’s the one who initiates the conversation. 

**Clint: Might have a surprise for you later.**

Bucky’s heart gets pleasantly larger.

**Bucky: Might this surprise have anything to do with a certain someone I’m not allowed to talk to you about?**

He hits send and hopes too late that he’s not getting ahead of himself. Bucky doesn’t realize he’s squeezing the phone in his hand until it buzzes violently within it. 

**Clint: Maybe. ;)**

Shit. Good shit. Holy shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. There’s a shit eating grin on Bucky’s face. 

“What’s up?” Gabe asks. 

Bucky shows him the texts. Gabe laughs, threatens to tell Clint about all the complaining Bucky’s been doing about him. 

“Everyone’s against me.” Bucky grumbles as he texts Clint back.

**Bucky: Maybe? Good maybe? Don’t do this to me!!!1!!**

He’s staring at screen, maybe that’ll make Clint answer quicker, when Carol calls him from the door.

“Bucky, you got a table! Table nine.”  
He whimpers. “Damn it.” He glances over at her. “Have they been waiting long?”  
“Not yet. But it’s emptying out, sweetie. Not gonna have an excuse. If you want a good tip, I’d get out there.”

Clint still hasn’t answered. Might not. Now Bucky feels tortured again. Carrot on a string dangled in front of him. Only it’s not a carrot. It’s a sexy boy that Bucky need to touch, to kiss, to talk to. 

With a groan, he pushes away from the table, reties the band holding his hair back, unable to do anything about the few thick pieces that always fall out in front, and heads towards the dining room. He’s halfway out the door when he spots one of the two customers waiting for him at table nine. Bucky halts, midstep. His heart stops, then picks up double time. Without thinking, he darts back into the kitchen through the out door, colliding with Gabe.

“The hell, man!” He shouts at him. “What’re you doing?!”  
“He’s here!”  
“What?” Gabe is staring at him like he’s suddenly grown a second head, and given the circumstances, Bucky wouldn’t be surprised. “What are you talking about?”  
“Steve! Gabe, he’s out there! Right now! At my table!”  
Gabe bursts out laughing. “So, the guy you’ve been pining over all week long is sitting out there right now and instead of going out there you’re shaking in here?”  
“Shut up!”  
“Get out there! Go!”  
“No! I can’t!” Bucky has no idea what to do. He’s totally unprepared for this. “Cover for me?”  
“Fuck that!” Gabe yells and grabs him by the shoulders to shove him back out into the dining room. 

Bucky finds himself stumbling over his own two feet, a few people turning to stare at him, and Gabe’s right behind him. 

“Where is this mystery sweetheart of yours?” He asks as he helps Bucky straighten up. “I need to see what the fuss is all about.”

Only Bucky has no need to point him out. Not only does he see who Steve’s with, he knows him. And Steve’s companion throws an arm up in the air and starts waving.

“Hey, Bucky!” Clint shouts.  
“Oh my God.” Bucky murmurs. “I’m gonna kill him.”  
“Oh man.” Gabe chortles. “What a little ass. Get going, man! You’ve got customers!”

There’s a hand on Bucky’s back and it gives him a little shove forward. He’s only vaguely aware that it was Gabe guiding him towards the table he needs to get to, where that adorable face is watching him as he approaches. His mouth feels unbelievably dry, sandpaper dry--how cliche--his legs have turned to jelly even though they’re somehow getting him even closer to that dorky smile. Hat’s still on his head, bangs sweeping across his forehead. He’s even prettier up close. Worse today. He’s got on a black button down that hugs his body, the sleeves rolled up, and a thin red tie around his neck, knotted loosely though. 

“Hi.” 

Bucky thinks that’s his voice. Felt it vibrating in his throat. He’s pretty sure the people at the table have said something back to him. He’s even more sure when Steve giggles. Clint backhands his arm. 

“Buck! The hell?”  
“What?”  
“I’m trying to do some form of introductions here and you’re just staring like a llama.”  
Bucky blinks at him. “What the hell does a llama stare like? Don’t they spit?”  
“Camels.”

Oh sweet baby Jesus his voice is just as adorable as his face is. It’s a lot deeper than Bucky would have imagined coming from such a small body, but it’s sweet and innocent sounding. 

“Huh?” Bucky asks.  
“Camels spit. You know, watch out, they spit. The Genie warns Aladdin.”  
“Aladdin? Like the movie?”

_Holy shit, you are too cute._

Steve grins. “Yeah.”  
“Well if your source is Disney, I’ll have you know llamas spit, too.”  
That cute grin gets bigger. “Emperor’s New Groove.”

Oh no. How could he be even cuter than Bucky first thought? How is this fair?

“Yeah, okay, before you two cornballs go into a Disney medley, Bucky, this is Steve, Steve, this is Bucky, my roommate.”

Steve’s face lights up with recognition, as though Clint’s mentioned him before and suddenly Bucky is ready to drop to his knees and kiss Clint’s feet to thank him if he’s been talking him up. Adorable little artist who can reference Disney movies? Sign him up. 

“You’re the dude in the band?”

Scratch that. Maybe Clint wasn’t quite talking him up. Mentioned him in passing was probably more like it. Play it cool, Barnes. 

“Yeah, that’s me. Were you at the show last week?”  
Steve licks his lips. “Yeah. You were staring at me, remember?”

_Fuck. Very smooth, Bucky._

“Oh. Right. Sorry about that. You had… uh. That wasn’t what it looked like.”  
“Probably was. I’m scrawny. Bones sticking out everywhere, right? I get it.”  
“No! It’s not that! You’re really hot!”

Fuck. Shit. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he just said that out loud and now Steve is smiling at him like a son of a bitch cause he totally did that on purpose and Clint is holding in a laugh behind his fist. Bucky can feel his cheeks burning.

“Kay, so before I say something else that makes me wanna crawl under a rock for a good thirty years, you guys know what you want?”

Bucky takes his bill pad out from the pocket of his apron and and pulls the pencil out from behind his ear. He nibbles on the eraser as he waits. Keeps his mouth busy so he doesn’t say anything else, since whatever he says will probably be another insert foot statement. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint says, eyes scanning the menu again. “I’m gonna started with the steamed mini pork bun and then have the Moo Shu chicken.”  
“Drink?”  
“Dude? Really?”  
Bucky chuckles. “Raspberry tea. Got it. And, uh, you? Steve?”

Oh God. Oh, geez. _I wanna say your name over and over. I wanna fucking scream it. Shit. Oh shit. I’m in so much trouble._

“Okay, you ready?”

He looks up from his order taking to crinkle his face at that adorable little fucker. 

“Huh?”

Steve laughs at his bemused expression. “Just checking. _I_ am going to have three eggrolls. Three, okay?”  
“Three.”  
“Yes. Three. And dumplings. There’s eight, right?”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“Kay, cool. So then, the Wonton soup and then Moo Shu Shrimp. Oh, and three eggrolls.”  
Bucky hesitates. Looks up again. “Wait… you want three _more_ eggrolls? Six altogether?”  
Steve rests his chin in his long, thin hand. “Nope. Just three. Had to make sure you were paying attention.”  
“Hmm…” Bucky hums to himself. “Would you like a drink?”  
“Coke?”

There seems to be an actual question there, like for the first time Steve’s actually not sure if he can have something he wants. Case in point, they don’t have Coke here. 

“Pepsi okay?”  
“Nope. I demand you find a vending machine and order me a Coke.”  
Bucky laughs. “No can do. I’m on the clock.”  
Steve sighs. “ _Fine_. Then I suppose I’ll have to make due with stinky ol’ Pepsi.”  
“Oh, phew.” Bucky wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Thought I was gonna be in trouble there.”  
“Nah, I’ll let you off the hook this time.”  
“Isn’t he the sweetest?” Clint comments, reaching across the table and pinching Steve’s cheek.  
“Sweet as fucking sugar.” Steve agrees before Bucky can.  
“Um, okay, so, I’m gonna put your stuff in. Like, I mean, your orders.” Bucky sighs. The hell is wrong with him? “And I’ll bring your drinks out, okay?”  
“Sounds good, buddy.” Clint says and goes right to talking with Steve like Bucky’s presence means nothing. “Right so tell me more about this giant comic exhibit of yours.”  
“Not comic exhibit.” Bucky hears Steve laugh as he goes back to the kitchen. “Comic _inspired_.”

As soon as he thinks, hopes, prays to God, Satan, fucking whoever will listen, that it’s safe, he dashes through the door and damn near starts hyperventilating. 

“Breathe, Bucky.” Gabe laughs at him. “I gotta say, you held your cool pretty well. Thought you gonna pass out there for a second. Guy’s a total babe.”  
“Didn’t I tell you!” Bucky fans himself with his hand. “Oh my God. Gabe, bring them the drinks?”  
“Fuck no. You’re gonna do it.”

Bucky whines and whimpers and throws a mini-tantrum to himself before putting their orders in. He takes a few minutes to compose himself, doesn’t go back out there with the drinks until he’s sure he can keep a straight face. The evening is a lot smoother after the first bumbling incident. In fact, other than a few “how’s everythings?” and “You need refills?” they don’t interact all that much. Clint monopolizes most of Steve’s attention and Bucky can’t really say that he’s jealous except that he is jealous. Not fair of him really, since Clint’s the one out with Steve tonight. Catching up with an old friend. It’s not a crime. He’s allowed. So when Bucky’s slipping them the check, he can’t help feeling disappointed that he’s not yet gotten the chance to have a conversation with Steve. Not until he notices Steve’s eyes fixated on his left arm. 

An old insecurity that’s never truly gone away comes charging up to the surface, bursting forth with such tenacity it’s enough to knock Bucky over. He’s bringing his arm behind him, ready to hide it behind his back when Steve is suddenly reaching forward and snatching him by the wrist.

“Is this Parker?” He’s asking. 

Bucky has no idea what he’s talking about. All he can see is metal plates overlapping one another. Then he realizes Steve is talking about the spider drawn on his forearm, red, long-legged--something added just a few month ago. Peter Parker, the artist’s name. Up and coming in the comic industry. Steve’s recognized the guy’s work. 

“Oh. Yeah.” He scratches the back of his head. “Met him a few months ago. Asked him to do it for me.”  
“Shit. Fuck, that guy’s so talented. He did a presentation in one of my classes last year and I couldn’t even fucking believe it and…” Steve’s eyes bug out and he stares up at Bucky. “Fuck. I’m… being so fucking rude right now, aren’t I? I just grabbed onto your arm. Your… prosthetic arm at that. Fuck. Fuck.” He lets go. “I’m sorry.”  
Bucky smiles. “No that’s… it’s okay. Kinda cool, actually. You noticed the art first,” He twists his wrist, “Metal second.”  
“Scuse me!” Another customer calls Bucky’s attention.

His heart falls. He wants to stay here. Talk more with Steve. It’s even worse when he when he gets back after they’ve paid and sees the table empty. 

Shoulders falling, Bucky sighs and feels like the world’s biggest baby for not wanting to do anything for the rest of the night. But he sucks it up and goes out there to start clearing up the table. Besides, Clint usually leaves decent tips. Sure enough, there’s a twenty on the table waiting for him. Bucky grins through his disappointment, swipes up the money and stuffs it in the apron’s pocket. When he grabs the receipt, he notices an arrow pointing to the edge of the paper in the ‘tips’ line. Bucky rolls his eyes. Clint’s got some thing with arrows and archery or some shit, but when he flips the receipt over, Bucky almost falls down. He has to read it at least a half a dozen times just to be sure his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. 

_You’re too cute for words!_  
 _Dinner tomorrow if you’re not busy? My place? Pizza and beer?_  
 _Let me know. 917-555-4599_  
 _-Steve_


	2. Chapter 2

“You totally did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Steve asks Clint as they walk back towards his place.  
Clint holds back a smirk. “Whatever do you mean?”  
“You’re so mean.” Steve snickers. “Totally put your friend on the spot in there.”  
“Guy hasn’t shut up about you all fucking week.”  
“About me? Really?”

Clint gives Steve a push in the side. He stumbles a bit from it but manages to stay on his feet. There’s a laugh though cause he’s not stupid. People have two reactions to him. Either they’re turned off or turned on. Okay, sometimes there’s a middle ground. Like with Clint, who’s never been anything other been an awesome pal, but Steve’s aware of the appeal he has on some people. Knows he can use it, too, just like Sharon pointed out last week at the bar. 

Like with Bucky. The super adorable guy who looked like he was totally into himself, probably intimidated lots of people with just a glance, but then came off as a different person entirely. At least, so far. Maybe Steve was off base. 

“Right… _so_?” Steve presses.  
“So…” Clint raises his eyebrows. “So what?”  
“Oh come on!” He laughs. “Tell me about him!”  
“Alright, alright. Bucky’s… a real marshmallow. So not what you’d expect looking at the dude.”  
“Yeah? So he’s not in some Satanic cult or something?”  
Clint laugh. “Nah. Not that I know of. Been the guy’s roommate for four years and haven’t picked up on any of that yet so I think you’re in the clear there. He’s got a sexy as sin voice, but you heard that. Claims he wants to be a rockstar, but secretly wants to compose for Broadway.” He lowers his voice like someone he doesn’t want to overhear him just might do that. “Don’t tell him I told you. He dances, too. Practices with, Nat. He’s good at that, too. Real good.”  
“Can I tell him you told me that?”  
“No, dick.”  
“What else?”  
“Dynamite in bed.”

Well if that’s not enough to make Steve instantly jealous. Of Clint _and_ Bucky. His dick gives a little twitch between his legs. Not the time or place.

“Hey. How come you never wanted to hook up with me?”  
Clint huffs. “You were a fucking baby, Steve.”  
“I knew a few tricks back then.”  
“Okay, I’m gonna take my hearing aids out cause I totally don’t need to hear this.” He shakes his head. “Christ, Steve, you were a fucking kid then.”  
“I was a teenager! High school. What were _you_ doing at sixteen?!”  
“My homework!”  
“Bull fucking shit!”

Laughing, Clint swings an arm over Steve’s shoulder. Doesn’t matter how much time has gone by, it’s like the two of them have been spending all these years seeing each other regularly all this time. Steve’s always been like this though. He can call up Tony right now even though he hasn’t seen him since July and the guy’s somewhere in Manhattan and he’d come pick him up if Steve really needed him. It’s easy for him to keep up relationships. All Steve has to do is always be there for all of them. And he always is. Always. As far as he knows, he’s never let any of them down. If he has, it’s never, not once, been on purpose. The few times he’s messed up, it’s been incidental, small, not all that important, and not only has Steve honestly felt horrible about it, he’s always gone out of his way to make up for it. Trust is important to Steve. He does what he can to maintain it. What he lacks in physical strength and build, he makes up for in other ways. Friendship, loyalty, hard work; those are what he values, what makes him strong. 

“You don’t think I upset him?” Steve wonders.  
“The arm thing?”

Shit. Even Clint knew exactly what he meant. 

“Yeah. I can’t believe I did that.”  
“Upset him? Probably not. Surprised him, yeah. He’s pretty open about the whole thing. Sometimes, I think it’s an act though. Tough guy act. Like if he fakes it he won’t have to deal with it. I dunno. He likes the fuck outta you though. He gets flustered around people he likes, but never like that.”  
“No?”  
“No. Not like that. You really might be different.”  
“Different?”  
“Yeah. Look, Steve, Buck’s my bro and all, but… fuck, I’ve known you forever, so I’m gonna come out and say it. Dude’s got some issues.”  
“Fuck. Too good to be true? I should have known.”  
“Maybe. I mean, I told him, I’m on your side. I’ll walk the fuck out on him if he does anything to hurt you. You got my word on that.”

Steve can’t help that heavy feeling weighing down on his chest. If he was having trouble breathing, he’d be convinced he was about to have an asthma attack. Too bad. He thought there was something cool with Bucky. Thought they could have a good time together. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Clint goes on. “Bucky’s a good guy, he really is. He just… he’s not so good on the whole commitment thing, y’know? Bucky doesn’t have relationships with people. He just… sees people? Does that make sense?”  
“Yeah actually. I think it does. I mean,” Steve shrugs. “I dunno what I’m looking for right now anyway. I have so much going on. Not really into finding anything serious. I’m more in a… see where things go sorta place.”  
“Hey that’s cool. Anyway, like I said, I’m on your side. So if he fuck’s it up, you let me know and I’ll kick his ass.”

Clint hops into a fighting stance, a horrible one so far as Steve can tell. He laughs, both at the way Clint’s standing and the face he’s making. 

“So, I gotta run, dude.” He tells Steve. “Fury’s expecting me to start piling peeps into SHIELD in about an hour. You wanna share a cab?”  
“No, I’m good. I’m gonna hop the train.”  
“Alright. Text me when you get home.”  
“Will do.”

The subway’s only a few blocks away so it only takes a few minutes for Steve to get there. Just as he trotting down the stairs, he feels his phone buzzing in his back pocket. Hearing the train pull up, Steve dashes down the last few steps and rushes to get his metrocard swiped at the turnstile. The damn thing rejects him twice before he gets through it and he just squeezes through the closing doors, the loud, ding dong! sounding through the station as he boards. 

Steve plops down in the orange seat right by the door, leaning his head back with a relieved smile as the train shakes with it’s departure. He sucks in a deep breath and then remembers his phone. Yanking it out, he grimaces at the screen. He doesn’t recognize the number of the message waiting for him. When Steve opens it, however, that grimace changes to a huge, dopey grin. 

**So… is it too early to accept that invite to dinner?**  
 **Do I seem too desperate?**

That warning of Clint’s is floating around Steve’s brain. So he figures it’s best to make Bucky wait until he gets home. It’s not that far. Only three stops, two and a half blocks, and a four story walk-up to his studio. Steve loves his studio. It has that industrial feel; pipes along the ceiling, cement floors, the entrance wall made of brick. It’s just one big, open room. Kitchen in the corner--countertop table, open cabinets, gas stove, dishwasher, awesome fridge. 

There’s a queen-sized bed--unmade--with two end tables on either side, littered with pencils, sketchpads, paints and paintbrushes--and dresser covered in comics and graphic novels on the other end. In the center is a living area, big, blue couch and matching recliner, square coffee table and TV on a big enough stand that’s home to dozens and dozens of blurays and dvds. A slanted work desk, more like work mess, is set up across from that. Bathroom’s at the far end of the place. 

Steve takes a seat on his recliner, kicks off his black Converse and leans back. Figures Bucky’s waited long enough. 

**Steve: Hmm. Dunno. You did make me drink Pepsi tonight.**

He clicks the television on. Flips through a few channels and wonders if Bucky is trying to figure out what to say or if he’s trying not to answer too soon the way Steve had. Bucky answers much sooner, just as Steve settles on watching FRIENDS. 

**Bucky: No fair. :P You said you’d let me off the hook for that.**

Lip tucked under his teeth, Steve holds in a giggle. Bucky does have him on that. He realizes that he doesn’t want to play this nonsense waiting game. Likes talking to Bucky already. It’s fun teasing him. 

**Steve: Ok. U got me there. You can accept my invite and not seem desperate.**  
 **What’d u like on your pizza? If you say anchovies I revoke the invite.**

Steve adjusts himself so that he’s laying across the chair, feet hanging off the side the way his Ma would slap or tickle his toes for. 

**Bucky: Yuck. No yucky fish. I’m good with just cheese.  
I’ll buy the beer?**

**Steve: Sounds good to me.**

**Bucky: What kind?**

Steve smirks and considers this for a moment. He’s now got his head resting on the footrest and his feet up on the headrest, and is about to be the little shit he loves to be. 

**Steve: Get what I like of course.**  
 **Nite, nite, Bucky.**

Steve laughs his little head off when he receives one last panicked text from Bucky that he doesn’t answer before plugging his phone in for the night and then heading over to his work area to get lost in colors and shading and lines and curves.  
 **_____________________**

It’s five to eight and Bucky’s due to be over in just a few minutes. Steve’s already ordered the pizza and straightened up. Well, straightened up as best he could anyway. Dishes are away, bed’s made, clothes are shoved in the dresser, bathroom’s… neat enough. Steve texted Bucky earlier in the afternoon with his address, still wouldn’t cut him a break and tell him his favorite beer though--he does enjoy being a little dick sometimes. Text-Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. Frowny faces and elongated ‘pleases’ tell Steve he likes to play along. 

When Steve’s in the bathroom, checking the mirror--again, for the, fifth, no, sixth time--he realizes he’s nervous. He’s changed his outfit three times already. This isn’t really a date. Maybe a date. Steve’s not sure. Either way, he’s settled on a tight black t-shirt with a low neckline, blue hoodie over it, and a pair of red skinny jeans, wide black belt holding them up. He tops it off with his favorite hat of course. He’s brushing his bangs out from under the top of his hat when there’s a buzz from his intercom. The noise brings a huge smile to Steve’s face and he skips to the com on his end. 

“Ye-ee-ss?” He sings into the speaker.  
“Hey. It… it’s Bucky.”  
“Bucky? Bucky? Hmm…” Steve teases. “Oh yeah! Aren’t you supposed to be bringing me some beer, Bucky?”  
He can hear the end of a chuckle when he presses the button again. “I have some.”  
“Well, you getting up here just might depend on what’chya got. So… out with it, jerk. What’d you bring me?”  
“Okay, punk. I _might_ have Bud Light. Or I _might_ have Sam Adams. Or _maybe_ , just _maybe_ I have Sam Adams _Octoberfest_.”  
Steve’s jaw drops. “Get the fuck out of here! You do _not_ have Octoberfest!”  
“I guess you’re just gonna have to let me up to find out, huh?”  
“Okay!” Steve squeaks and holds the buzzer down to unlock the outer door. 

He wants to open his door now, stand there and wait for Bucky as he comes up the stairs. But he doesn’t want to seem too anxious, so Steve makes himself wait for the knock at his door. There’s two of them. Knock, knock. Both of them make his stomach pulse with excitement. 

At the open door, Steve needs to look up to see Bucky. He’s got his hands behind his back, hiding the beer. He’s also wearing that sexy leather jacket again and his hair down and he gives Steve a million dollar smile when he sees him.

“Hey, Bucky.” Steve greets.  
“Hi.”  
“So… lemme see! Is it really Octoberfest? Isitisitisit?”

Bucky snickers and pulls out his right hand, holding up one of the beers bottles. Sure enough, he’s got a bottle of Sam Adams’ Octoberfest dangling above Steve’s head. And that’s Steve’s favorite seasonal beer.

“Fucking shit!” Steve exclaims. “How the hell? No way! How’d you do that?”  
“Do what?” Bucky asks, voice too high to be that innocent. “What’d I do?”  
“There’s no way you just guess that! Nuh-ah! Impossible! Who’d you talk to? Clint? No. No, he couldn’t have known. Fuck. Who? What the hell?”

Bucky chuckles, his cute nose scrunching up when he does. 

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered. Relax. I asked, well, had to pretty much beg Clint for help, thank you very much, as if I wasn’t already totally at his mercy, and he asked…” He contorts his face a bit as he thinks about it for a second. “Sharon? That’s… that’s it, right?”  
“Fuck. It’s a fucking conspiracy.” Steve sighs. “Oh well. Can I get one of those?”

When Steve reaches up for the beer in Bucky’s outstretched hand, though, he yanks it up further, keeping it just out of his reach. 

“Hey!” Steve exclaims. “Please! Bucky!” Bucky gives in right away and hands Steve the beer and Steve gives him a little victory dance before inviting him in. “Just toss your jacket anywhere. Pizza’ll be here any minute.”  
“No anchovies, right?”  
“Yuck. No.”

Steve’s moved into the kitchen, rummaging through the drawer for his bottle opener when he can just as easily use the one on his keys. But then he’d have to walk _all_ the way to the other side of the place to his dresser and that’s just too far. So he continues to shove things around, spoons, forks, various remotes that aren’t used for anything, candles, some shit he doesn’t even know what they are, until he finds it. 

“Uh ha! Got you!” He cheers to himself before flicking the cap off and taking a sip of his own beer. Steve opens one for Bucky and goes to join him by his couch. Bucky’s looking at the posters on the wall so Steve pokes him in the side, earning something of a squeak and a jerky squirm. Steve hands over the beer and says to him, “You like them?”

“The posters? Yeah. I don’t know them though. Who are they?”

Steve points to the one on the far right and works his way to the left. “That’s L, from _Death Note_. Kikyo and Sesshomaru from _InuYasha_. Gray Fullbuster from _Fairy Tale_ …” 

Bucky interrupts with, “Is he… naked?” 

Steve laughs and doesn’t bother answering that. He’ll save it for another time if Bucky’s really interested in learning about the character.

“The last one is Itachi. He’s from _Naruto_.”  
“Oh! I know that one!” Bucky lights up, like knowing the show Steve’s talking about is the greatest thing in the world.  
Steve chuckles. “Come to a con with me sometime. I’ll show you all the really cool stuff.”  
“Will I fit in?”  
“Everyone fits in.” He loops his arm with Bucky’s. “But you gotta cosplay with me. Planning on Link this year. So you’ll be my Zelda, kay?”  
“Okay.”

He’s not sure if Bucky realizes what he’s just agreed to or not so Steve just starts giggling like crazy. 

“Bucky, do I make you nervous?”

Bucky’s cheeks get red, but since Steve’s arm is still wrapped up with is, he can’t get away like it appears he might want to. His left hand does run through his hair though and Steve suddenly wants to get his own fingers through it. 

“Yeah,” Bucky admits. “Kinda.”  
“Aw, you are so cute.” Steve pinches his cheek. “I tell you what. You guess which one of those _I_ did, and I’ll let you ask me one question, anything you want, and I have to answer it. Sound good?”  
“Wait… you did one of those?”  
“Sure did.”  
“Shit.” Bucky looks back to the wall. “No shit.”

Bucky leans forward seeking a closer look. Shaking his head, Steve gives that adorable ass a swat with his palm to push him onto the couch itself.

“Oof.” Bucky grunts as he tumbles onto it.  
“You can get closer, you dork. The couch won’t bite.”  
“Y’know, Clint failed to mention what a little shit you were.”

Bucky’s voice is light and playful, smile clear as day on his face even if he’s still facing the posters. 

“Really? That’s usually the first thing people say about me.”  
“Nah. Clint said you were the nicest kid he’s ever known.”

When Steve doesn’t answer that, basically cause his insides feel too warm and fuzzy, Bucky turns around with a smirk that says ha!-I-finally-got-you-didn’t-I? Bucky flicks his eyebrows up and drops his hand onto Steve’s head, jostling it from side to side for a second before pointing to the picture of L.

“This one?”  
“That one?” Steve takes a second to realize that Bucky’s trying to guess which one he drew. “Oh.” He laughs. “Sorry. Wrong.”  
“Damn. Which one then?”  
Steve points to Itachi. “That one.”  
“Shit! I was gonna guess that one, too! Thought it was _too_ good!” Bucky snaps his mouth shut. “I mean… well, shit. Okay, you’re _really_ fucking good, kid.”

Steve tucks his lip under his teeth and sways from side to side. He rubs the back of his neck, draws circles on the floor with his big toe. 

“Aw shucks. You know the way to my heart already. Flattery’ll get you far with me.”  
“Oh yeah?” Bucky chuckles. “Body isn’t too small to hold your ego?”  
“Hell no. I have room to spare.”

The buzzer going off interrupts whatever Steve could’ve replied with. Pizza. 

“You can take your shoes off if you want. Make yourself comfy.” He tells Bucky as he heads to the door. “I’ll be sitting on the floor though. You can join me if you wanna or you can just sit on the couch.”  
“You want money for the food?”  
“No! You brought the beer!”

Once they’re both armed with a plate of pizza--Bucky asks for two, while Steve piles on four slices--and a fresh bottle of beer each, they settle down in front of Steve’s couch. Call him crazy, but this is the spot Steve prefers to entertain private company. He drops down two pillows, they lean up against piece furniture more normal people sit their butts on, and sometimes something magical happens. Magical, sexy, what’s the difference? Sometimes both. Sometimes more. Anyway, he pops a dvd in, presses play, and scoots up decently close to Bucky. Bucky’s legs are folded like a pretzel, Steve’s straight out in front of him.

“This… this is a scary movie…” Bucky comments when the title screen comes on.  
“Yeah, dude. It’s twelve days before Halloween.” Steve grins and then catches the look on Bucky’s face before he can effectively try to hide it. “Is that a problem?”  
“Oh. No. It’s okay.” His voice is hushed, quiet.  
“Are you sure?” He’s trying not to laugh. “I can change it. Put something else on. Is _Frozen_ better?”  
Bucky’s cheeks burn red again. “Fuck you.” He snickers. “I’m fine.”  
“Okay.”

Except Steve’s pretty sure Bucky’s most definitely _not_ fine. The movie Steve’s chosen is especially gruesome. Not particularly gory, that’s not really Steve’s cup of tea, but the opening scene alone _does_ have a family being hanged in their backyard. Since Steve has seen the movie, he peeks over at Bucky to see his eyes wide and lips parted just enough to be considered a little gasp. As the movie progresses, Bucky’s been trying to discreetly cover his eyes, though he throws discretion to the wind when a computer image of the monster happens to turn to look at the movie’s protagonist. Steve pretends he doesn’t see, gives Bucky the dignity of hiding his eyes in secret. That is, until they get to the scene Steve’s been _dying_ to get to. When the monster, demon, whatever, finally pops in front of the screen and not only does Bucky jump nearly ten feet in the air, he lets out an high-pitched screech and then buries his head in Steve’s shoulder, latching onto his hoodie. 

“No! What the hell! I hate that thing!”

The movie’s paused now, and Steve is laughing so hard, so fast his sides hurt already. He’s actually worried he might have an asthma attack. At the same time he doesn’t even fucking care cause that was seriously one of the funniest things he’s ever seen in the world and he thinks Bucky might be his new favorite person ever. He holds onto him, stroking in hands through his hair, and _fuck, it’s so damn soft_.

“I’m sorry!” He gets out through his laughter. “I should have warned you.”

Bucky whines a little into his shirt and then shifts just enough so that those big eyes of his are piercing into Steve’s. And Steve thinks he melts a little. 

“Are you always so mean?”  
Steve gives him a pouty smile. “Yeah. But to be fair, I _did_ offer to put a different movie on. S’not my fault you said no. You have no right to all those piercings and tattoos, y’know. You’re a shame to your image.”  
“Hey!” Bucky’s voice squeaks. “Haven’t you ever heard that book and cover and judging expression?”

Steve giggles as Bucky finally gets brave enough to lift his head back up. When he does, though, his face is super close to his. Which puts his lips just inches from his and Steve hadn’t realized earlier just how moist and plump they are and now all he can think about it kissing them and them kissing every inch of his body and _fuck_. Fuck, now Steve’s nervous. And this is what happens when Steve gets really fucking nervous. 

“So what did happen to your arm?”  
Bucky backs away. “What?”

Shit. _Fucking, what the hell is wrong with you, Rogers?_

See, there’s this thing that happens with Steve when he gets nervous. He’s not like other people who clam up and can’t think of a single thing to say. Steve, instead, just says anything. First thing that comes to his mind. Filter turns off.

“Shit!” Steve exclaims and pulls the brim of his hat down so that it covers his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Bucky! Fuck. Fuck! I’m such a God damn asshole! Don’t answer that! Don’t even talk to me ever again if you don’t want to!” He topples over to the side, right into Bucky’s lap. “Holy shit. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I… this thing it happens when I get nervous, and I just blurt shit out! I’m sorry!”

He shuts the hell up when he feels Bucky moves. For a second, Steve’s utterly terrified that Bucky might get up and leave and he’ll never see him again. But he simply takes hold of the hat’s brim--which Steve is still pulling over his face--and lifts it up. Steve peers up at him to see that Bucky is smiling.

“You were nervous?” He asks.  
Steve pushes his bottom lip out and nods. “I wanted to kiss you. I’m sorry.”  
Bucky’s eyebrows pull in. “For wanting to kiss me?”  
“What? No.” He shakes his head. “For what I asked you.”  
“Don’t be. Well, yeah, it was fucking rude.” Steve feels cold, his insides freezing, but then Bucky goes on, “It’s okay though. I… I kinda like it this way. Kinda nicer than going weeks of dancing around it. Of ‘it’s okay, Bucky.’ ‘I don’t even notice it, Bucky.’ Like, yes, you fucking do. How can you not notice a metal fucking arm, asshole? It was an accident, by the way. A car accident. When I was thirteen. Mom hit a patch of black ice. Lost control. Me and Becca woke up. Mom didn’t.”  
“Becca?”  
“Oh. My little sister. She was seven.”  
Steve sits up and sighs. “So it was just you guys and your dad?”  
“Uh, no. That dick left us when we were little. They found him, but just like then, he didn’t want us. We went to some foster homes, place to place and… I dunno, I guess I’ve just been on my own since I was eighteen. Tried to get Becca adopted, but she wouldn’t go anywhere without me. Didn’t really want her to leave without me but I just wanted her to get a real family, y’know?”  
Steve shrugs. “Maybe you’re the only family she needs?”

Steve’s not sure if that’s the right thing to say, or if he should say it at all. He’s not really nervous right now, so it doesn’t feel like something he’s blurted. Bucky smiles though, a nice, warm smile. Flowers in springtime. 

“She’s nineteen now. Still with the family that had her since she was fifteen. They… sorta became her legal guardians even if they never could legally adopt her. Took her in and all. Nice people. Invite me over all the time, too.” He pauses and says to Steve, “You don’t have that look in your eyes.”  
“Look?”  
“Yeah, that oh-poor-Bucky-I’ll-fix-you look.”

Now that’s something Steve doesn’t need any further explanation for. Instead of saying anything, he shrugs out of his hoodie and starts slipping out of his top. 

“What are you doing?”

Steve holds his finger up to tell him to be patient as he tosses his shirt towards the bed. It falls short, majorly short, and lands in a heap on the floor. He turns around to show Bucky his bare back, leaning forward a little bit so that he gets the full view. 

“What… what happened?”

There’re warm fingers touching him, fingertips gently grazing his spine, curving first to the right and then to the left before straightening down. 

“Nothing. Just born with it. Scoliosis.” Steve explains. “Not a metal arm or nothing, I mean, but…” He turns around and sticks his chest out a little bit. “First surgery left me with this guy.”

Like with his curved spine, Bucky runs his soft fingers over the scar that goes down the middle of his chest. 

“First?”  
“Yeah. Open heart when I was two.” He shifts and lowers the very top of his pants to show him the scar on his hip. “Bone marrow transplant. Six years old.” Steve points to the mark on the left side of his abdomen. “Easy one.”  
“Appendix?”  
“Yup. Seven years old.”  
“Were you ever healthy?”  
Steve laughs. “Not really. Not then anyway. Spent more time in hospitals than out of them. Scarlet fever, rheumatic fever, strep throat, stomach ulcers… oh! I had the mumps when I was eight. Seriously, who the fuck gets the mumps?”  
“Are you… better now?”  
Steve shrugs. “I have flat feet.” He lifts his foot up to show him, exaggerating the movement and making Bucky laugh. “Still have arrhythmia…” He leans in and whispers, “That’s an irregular heartbeat. Bad fucking asthma.” He reaches into his pocket to show him his inhaler. “Carry this dude with me _everywhere_. Have an Epipen in the kitchen for extreme cases. Gotta watch my blood pressure, too. You should see my medicine cabinet. Seriously, you’d think a ninety year old lived here, not a twenty-two-year old.” Steve laughs at his joke and lifts his beer up. “Hey! Let’s have our very own pity me party!”

Bucky bows his head down with his own lighthearted chuckle and clinks the neck of his beer with Steve’s.

“Your parents must worry about you all the fucking time.” He comments.  
“Well, Dad died when I was really little. Don’t remember him much. Just been me and Ma for, like, ever.”  
“You get along well with her?”  
“Ma? Fuck yeah. She’s the best lady in the world.”

And totally not something Steve wants to talk about at the moment because his Ma is a very sensitive topic right now so he hopes that Bucky understands, “You want me to switch the movie?” is code for, ‘I’m done talking about this for now’. 

Bucky glances at the television and twists his lips around a few times before shaking his head. 

“No. Now I’m invested in this dumbass. I wanna know if he makes it out or not.”  
“Eh. Are you sure?”  
Bucky gives him an not-so-convinced look. “You’ll warn me, huh? If something scary’s gonna happen?”  
“Not much left. Like twenty minutes, but I’ll protect you.” Steve pulls on his hoodie again, not bothering to go fetch his shirt, and zips it up. He climbs into Bucky’s lap and tells him, “But you gotta keep me warm.”  
“Will do.”

Steve is immediately wrapped up in Bucky’s arms, and he feels his chin resting on his head. As soon as the movie starts up again, the arms around him get tighter. Steve chuckles silently and holds onto Bucky, running his fingers across the hands locked around him. There are tiny, little whimpers coming from the man twice his size, who practically engulfs Steve in his embrace, and now that Bucky is very aware that Steve knows he’s afraid of the movie, he makes no attempts to hide the fact that he’s shying away from the screen. Even though not all that much is happening, nothing pop-out scary anyway, Bucky keeps burying his face in Steve’s hat. 

It’s the very, very last scene, and Steve makes good on his promise. Just before the monster would make his very last appearance, he covers Bucky’s eyes with his own hand so that he doesn’t have to see it. 

“Is it over?” Bucky whimpers while Steve’s hand is still covering his eyes.  
“Yeah.” Steve snickers. “All over. It’s safe now.”  
“Oh thank God.” He sighs, relief in the sound, on his face, inching all the way throughout his body. When Steve peels his hand away, Bucky glances down at him. “Can I torture you now?”  
“Hey! I _told_ you…!”  
“I just wanna ask you a question!” Bucky laughs.  
“Oh.” Steve makes himself more comfortable in his lap, shifting so that he’s damn near cradled in it. “Go ‘head. Shoot.”  
“Clint says you’re studying for your Masters at Pratt.”  
“Yeah?”  
“What’d you wanna do?”  
“Ugh.” Steve drops his head back. It hangs off the side of Bucky’s leg and Bucky takes to softly running his fingers up and down his throat. “That feels nice. Don’t stop.” Bucky chuckles and doesn’t stop. “I don’t know. No. I do know. But it’s not… I guess I’ll go into teaching or something.” Bucky pulls his hand away and Steve picks his head up to glare at him. “Hey!”

Bucky waves his index finger at him, a playful sneer on his lips as though he’s about to scold him. 

“I’ll keep doing it if you answer my question.”

Hmm. So Bucky can be a little shit, just like him. Not bad, Bucky, not bad. Steve lowers his head back in defeat. He likes the way it feels when Bucky’s fingers touch him like that. 

“Okay. I wanna make comics. Or do cartoons. Y’know, animation.”  
Bucky resumes caressing his exposed throat. “Is there a reason you can’t do that?”  
Steve shrugs with his arms. “I dunno. I mean, don’t you think I need a _real_ job or something?”  
“Isn’t that a real job?”  
“Yeah, for people who make it. I might not make it.”  
He feels Bucky shake with another laugh. “So, you’ll give up because you _might_ not make it? Kid, you’re talking to the wrong person for that one. I’m a waiter, trying to make it big in a punk rock band with a professional ballerina and John Jay student who wants to be an FBI agent.”  
“But Clint said…” 

Shit, no. Clint said not to say anything about him wanting to compose for Broadway.

“What’d Clint say?”  
“No, nothing. Never mind.” He sits up again, causing Bucky to pull his hand back in order to keep from accidentally putting too much pressure on his throat. Steve reaches up and touches Bucky’s cheek. “You have nice skin.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Uh-ha.” Steve slips his fingers under the bottom of Bucky’s shirt and starts lifting it up.  
“What’re you…”  
“Wanna see all your tats.”

Bucky chuckles and helps Steve with removing the shirt--dark blue, v-neck, real soft and fits loose around his body--and there’s a pack of cigarettes sticking out of the pocket of his black jeans. Spotting them, Steve tsk, tsks at Bucky. 

“I don’t like those.”  
Bucky bites his lip. “Sorry.”  
“We’ll work on it.” Steve begins to examine the ink all over Bucky. 

There’s a row of scattered black stars--outlined, no colors--that go up towards his right collarbone, a compass over his left pec. His right arm isn’t a full sleeve, or even a half sleeve, but it has angel wings with the name Winifred in script within them, a bleeding star on his actual shoulder, praying zombie hands on his bicep--rosaries wrapped around them--the quotes “keep moving forward” (Steve knows that one is a Disney quote) and “be silently drawn to the strange pull of what you truly love” swirling around his forearm. Down by his wrist is the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ coin. He’s seen the ones on his neck already--skull, dice, old-fashioned microphone, music notes--so Steve cranes his neck. Bucky knows what he’s after and turns enough so that he can see the three birds on his shoulder blade, Jack the Pumpkin King down his side, and the rose from _Beauty and the Beast_ with only one petal left, the rest falling from the stem, on his right. 

“So, do any of these have meanings or are they just because?” Steve asks, letting his fingers touch now that he’s had a good look.  
“Well, you can guess the music stuff I’m sure and the three little birds are from Bob Marley.” Bucky turns his right arm and shows him the angel wings. “My mom’s name.” He pats the compass. “So I never lose my way. The rest?” He shrugs. “Some of it, just because, others just seemed like a good idea at the time. Same with piercing and stuff.”

Steve’s running his fingers over the compass, circling around it and tracing the letters. There’s an awful lot of detail to it. He thinks this one might be his favorite. Or maybe the rose on his back. 

“You know what?” Steve asks as he walks his fingers along Bucky’s collarbone.  
“Mmm…” Bucky’s eyes have closed; Steve holds in a chuckle. “What’s that?”  
“Did you know that I usually get what I want?”

His lips spread in a wide smile even though it looks like he tries pretty damn hard to pull it reel it in. 

“Oh…” He sucks in a rough breath when Steve sucks on his neck a bit, “Yeah?”  
“Mhmm.” Steve’s fingers have found their way to Bucky’s hair. “Know what I want right now?”  
Bucky licks his lips, swallows hard and opens his eyes. “W-what?”

Steve grips his hair a bit, not hard, just enough to have a nice hold on it, and brings their faces close together. Their hot breaths mix together. He lets their lips just touch, not enough for a kiss, but it does bring the slightest of whimpers out of Bucky’s throats. Steve’s smirks. 

“You.”  
“Oh thank God…” Bucky breathes.

He gets the words out right before Steve crushes his mouth with his own. His hands run all over Bucky’s body, like they can’t get enough of touching him. Which they can’t. His body is so warm, so soft, responds to everything Steve does, and Steve straddles his hips, grinding into him and pulling a moan out of his lungs. The noise goes right into Steve, through his entire body and tingling his toes and his balls and his dick and every fucking thing. 

When he tugs on Bucky’s hair, Bucky hands catch a fever and start tearing away at the zipper of Steve’s hoodie. He yanks it down and flings it away, in what direction Steve hardly cares. All he knows is that his chest and Bucky’s chest are touching, rubbing against one another. Steve’s dying to wrap his legs around Bucky’s waist, but first he needs to get that damn button on his jeans undone. To help a bit, Bucky lifts his hips and Steve gets it open, shoves his hand down Bucky’s pants and grabs hold of his rock hard dick. Bucky moans, head rolling back and then up, leaning into him so he can start sucking on Steve’s neck. 

“Wait…” Steve breathes, panting heavy, hesitant but also sure. “Wait, wait…”

Bucky breaks away, fast, backing up real fast, but Steve leaves his hand where it is. 

“I’m sorry. Too fast? We can stop.”  
Steve grins. “I know. Bucky…” He leans in and kisses him. Long and hard and he doesn’t want to stop, but he has to. He needs to stop and talk. “I don’t want…” Steve needs to pause when Bucky leans in and starts pecking kisses into his chest. “I don’t want this to be a one night stand.”  
“Uh-huh…” He sucks hard on his collarbone. “Me neither.”  
“I don’t… I’m not looking for anything too serious. Just…”  
Bucky stops and looks up at him. “What?”  
“Slow? See where it goes?”  
“Yeah. That’s good.”

Bucky tries to pull him in for another kiss, only Steve puts his fingers over his those sinful lips of his.

“No, no.” Steve chuckles, stomach starting to pull into a knot. “Don’t agree just because I’m playing with your dick.” 

Bucky’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, quick back and forths.

“No! Shit, Steve, you can stop and I’ll still agree. No one night stand. Slow. See where it goes.” He leans in and kisses him softly, sweet and tender. “You can stop. I promise, I’m game.” Bucky gives him those big puppy dog eyes again, wimpy and playfully pathetic. “Please don’t stop though.”

Steve grins. Like he can fucking stop now. He gobbles Bucky back up into a kiss, taking complete control of it. There’s nothing about this he doesn’t already love. The taste of beer on Bucky’s lips, the feel of his skin against his, the way his fingertips--the very tips of his nails--scrape along his back. 

Steve’s lips make their way to Bucky’s ear where he asks, “Top or bottom?”  
“What?”  
“Do you top or bottom?”

Before he gives him the chance to answer, Steve grinds into his crotch again, still holding onto his dick. The first reply he gets is a moan through a tightly clenched jaw. Fuck, Bucky looks even better when he’s trying to keep in control of himself. He’s panting, sweat clinging to his face and chest. His tongue runs across his mouth and his eyes dart back and forth as though he’s trying to remember the question Steve’s asked him. 

“Uh… I’ve done both.” He takes in a deep breath. “I top mostly I guess. You?”  
“I’ve topped before, but I like to bottom. Sorta.”  
“Which means?”  
“What it means is it’s just physical…” Steve is sucking on his neck, which makes his hips buck up. “I’m a bossy son of a bitch. I’ll admit that straight up.” He starts working Bucky’s pants down and finally starts stroking that wonderfully hard dick of his. He looks down at it and _fuck_ it’s uncut, smooth, thick and even more beautiful than he could have imagined. “I’m gonna suck your cock all the fucking time.”  
“Jesus Christ, Steve…” He moans.  
Steve takes hold of Bucky’s chin. “I love it _hard_. Fuck me good and hard and you’ll have me screaming and begging for more and I swear to _God_ if you stop in the middle of a good fuck to ask me if I’m okay I _will_ slap you right off side the head, you got it?”

Bucky chuckles. It’s a strained sound through all the panting, but he gets it out. 

“Yeah. I get it.”  
“Good. Get on the couch.”

Steve slips off of him so that Bucky can do just that. As he’s lifting himself up, sliding up against the front of the couch to get on it, Steve pulls his pants down the rest of the way. 

“Few more things,” Steve says as he positions himself on his knees in front of Bucky. He holds his dick close to his mouth, feels his breath hitting it, and peeks up at Bucky with just his eyes. Bucky’s gaze is totally focused on Steve’s lips, like he has no idea that Steve is even looking at him. His bottom lip even quivers a bit. Steve loves this. Has him right where he wants him. So he snaps his fingers at him to grab his attention. “Hey! I’m talking to you.”  
Bucky looks him in the eyes and lifts his eyebrows, grin twitching. “I’m listening!”  
“You better be. So I already told you, I’ll be you begging, right?”  
“Yeah. More and harder.”  
“Ah, you were listening.” Steve rewards that with the slightest licks and already Bucky’s cock is dripping with precome. He whimpers, too. “So, that means I’m gonna be making you beg, too. Fair’s fair and all.” That makes Bucky whine, but he gives no objection. “I also love to hear my name. I want you in the moment with _me_. Don’t want you thinking about some ex or celebrity or some shit, got it? If you’re with me, you’re _with_ me.”

Bucky nods and reaches down to cup his face, as though that’s the most logical thing his asked of him. 

“Anything else, your highness?”  
“One more thing. I think. You’re gonna tell me when you’re close.”  
“Kay. How come?”  
“Cause maybe I won’t want you to yet, that’s how come.”  
“Mmm. You _are_ mean.”  
“Told you I was.”

Steve lets his tongue hang out and once again Bucky’s gaze falls only on that. His tongue just grazes the tip of Bucky’s cock, a feather of a touch on that moist slit.

“Steve…” Bucky whispers.  
“You want more, Bucky?”  
“ _Fuck_ … yes.”  
“Then ask for more.”  
“Please… oh God… _Please, Steve_ …”

And with that Steve finally starts licking the hell out of Bucky’s dick like it’s his favorite fucking ice cream flavor and he’s been denied it for years and years. Not too much of a lie either. He tastes fabulous, so he wants more of it and sucks him all the way in, _all_ the way in. There’s not one inch of Bucky’s nice and big cock left for the world to see. Steve’s lips are at his belly for a few seconds before he pulls back and starts sucking, moving his head up and down and latching his hands onto Bucky’s hips like his life depends on it. At first, there’s a strange gagging noise coming from the man who’s dick in his mouth, like Bucky’s been rendered incapable of making any sound at all. Once Steve starts to move, however, he gets that voice of his back.

Turns out Bucky’s a moaner. Not loud, not really, sort of an indoor voice kinda moaner. If his mouth wasn’t full of cock, Steve would laugh at his joke. But his mouth _is_ full of cock at the moment and Bucky starts rocking his hips up and after about ten minutes that indoor moaning is outdoor moaning and Bucky’s beginning to shout his name.

“Steve! Fuck! Shit, I’m not…” Bucky’s panting hard and heavy, can’t seem to catch his breath, and Steve peeks up at him. Sure enough he looks absolutely wrecked. Hands in his hair, head tossed back, chest rising up and down. There _was_ one thing Steve “forgot” to mention. He’s a fucking _god_ at sucking cock and he fucking knows it. “Fuck! Steve, I’m not gonna last like this!”

Steve laughs around Bucky’s cock, outright laughs, and doesn’t let up. He just sucks even harder, swirling his tongue around and adding a teasing fondle to his balls. 

“Shit…” Bucky’s muttering. “ _Steve_! God… Fuck… M’gonna… m’gonna…”

When Bucky’s entire body stiffens, his hand finds Steve’s head, latches onto his hat, pulling it slightly off his head. Bucky’s cum tastes amazing as it fills Steve’s mouth. Steve swallows every single drop, keeps Bucky in his mouth until he feels him softening. 

“Shit. Holy shit.” Bucky keeps muttering. “Shit. Steve. Oh my God. Shit.”

Still on his knees between Bucky’s legs, Steve glances up at him and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. A sloppy grin pulls up on Bucky’s face, Steve grins back in suit. He bends forward and kisses Steve, holding his chin between his left fingers. Bucky licks his lips like he tastes something good. 

“I wanna lick you all over,” He murmurs. “Get the fuck up here with me.”

That right there turns Steve on right in the very center of his balls. His turn is over, and his cock his aching to be touched, trying hard to burst out of his jeans. He’ll very willingly concede the lead and he nods, stands up and is about to climb onto the couch when Bucky’s strong right hand rests against his chest, keeps him from doing so. Bucky kisses the bulge in his pants and the friction alone makes Steve want to scream. Unbuttoning the jeans, Bucky shimmies them and his boxers down and has Steve step out of them. 

“You gonna leave the hat on?” Bucky asks.  
Steve smiles. “No.” 

He takes it off, combs his fingers through his messy hair once and tosses it behind him, onto the coffee table and when he turns around, he turns into Bucky pinching his left nipple.

“Oh!”

The sensation runs through him, right down his spine and to his knees, threatening to make them buckle. Bucky steadies him. Keeps him upright as he rubs it for him, chuckling as he does. Steve grabs his hand again and puts it back there, trying to lead Bucky to do it again. It makes Bucky chuckle, and he does play with his nipples enough to make his knees trembles cause _Jesus, fuck, holy shit_ does Steve love to have his nipples played with, but he won’t pinch it like that again. Steve pouts and Bucky laughs.

“Get on the couch.” Bucky orders. “Face the wall.”

Doing as he’s told, swapping positions with Bucky, who kicks his jeans to the side as he stands, Steve gets on his knees, rests his arms on the back of the couch. Bucky moves him about, spreads his legs apart, arches his back, then starts gliding his tongue down his spine. He follows the curves of it and everything, too, and Steve feels his skin quiver beneath that tongue. 

Like Bucky said, he starts to lick everywhere, bathing Steve in his saliva. He pauses just around his ass so he can gently part his cheeks, and then that son of a bitch starts teasing the hell of him, licking _everywhere_ but the _one_ spot Steve wants him to touch most. Well, _almost_ the one spot he wants touched most. 

“ _Bucky_!” He whines. “ _Please_!”

He can hear him laugh and then feels his teeth just graze along his hole before Bucky gives him what he wants. Bucky licks and laps and moistens the spot, pulls soft moans and whimpers from Steve. Steve is a screamer, asthma and all, can’t fucking help it. But with Bucky doing that, it’s all he can do just to make a sound at all. When he feels Bucky’s tongue sliding in and out of him, Steve bites his wrists cause _ohmyfuckingGod_.

Legs between his, Bucky gets on the couch with him, reaching around his body and finally, _finally_ giving his cock the friction it’s been begging for. 

When he pulls his tongue away, Steve whines, his ass whines, Bucky chuckles. He comes up to his ear. 

“You want me inside of you?”

He must be joking. Not that Steve doesn’t want that. He’s fucking dying for it. But he just came a little while ago. How the hell…

But he peeks over his shoulder and sure enough, Bucky’s sporting a brand new erection just for him. Steve lifts his eyebrows in surprise. Bucky smiles and shrugs. 

“It happens. Special occasion.” He winks. “Just for hotties like you.” Steve’s dick get impossibly harder at that and he’s sure Bucky feels it twitch with his hand wrapped around it like that. “So, how about it?”  
“Oh, fuck… _yes_. Please… Bucky… _please_!”  
“You have stuff?”

And the fucking world just exploded. Undone. No life left on Earth because Steve Rogers is the biggest fucking bonehead there is.

“Shit.”

He pushes Bucky away and runs over to his nightstand, checks his box of condoms. Just like he feared, it’s empty. School’s been so fucking busy that he forgot to get a new one. 

“Fuck. Fuck this isn’t happening.” Steve flings the empty box on the bed.  
Bucky’s sitting on the couch, holding back a laugh. “S’okay.”  
“No!” He doesn’t mean to, but he’s starting to panic, and tears through his end table drawer. “Maybe there’s one in here…”  
“Hey, Steve, it’s no big deal. Another time.”  
“No, but…”  
“I can still get you off.”  
Steve whines and jerks his knee. “What about you?”  
“I already got off once.” He laughs. “I think I’ll survive.”  
“God damn it. I’m sorry, man.” He glares at Bucky, faking anger. “Why the hell don’t you have any on you?”  
Bucky blushes. “I… was nervous. Didn’t wanna give you the wrong idea.”  
“Oh but this is the best idea, huh?” He giggles.

Bucky crosses his arms and shakes his head. Then he looks back over at him curls his index finger.

“You know, if you want me to get you off, you had better be nicer to me than that. Now get the fuck back over here so I can put _something_ inside of you.”

And just like that heat springs back to Steve’s dick. Nothing else matters but Bucky and the hardness between his legs and “bring the lube that’s over there” and the bottle of lube apparently. 

Bucky pats the spot on the couch next to him, takes the lube from Steve’s hand and guides him down to his back. He takes hold of his hips and pulls him to where he wants--Steve laughs his head off until he’s cut off by Bucky’s mouth. Steve’s sure he’ll never get enough of Bucky’s mouth, his lips, his tongue, his taste, everything. 

As he’s kissing him, Bucky pushes his knees up and sometime during the most amazing makeout session ever, which has included fingers through his hair, sucking on his neck that will be leaving plenty of hickies, nipple pinching--fucking _yes!_ \--Bucky somehow lubed up his hand because now there’s a finger going up Steve’s ass. 

Bucky fingers him in and out only a handful of times before quickly adding a second finger, even less times before adding a third. He’s fucking good at reading Steve’s body. He has him squirming and trembling and yelling in minutes. He’s twisting his hand in just the right way, pressing up against his prostate with each thrust and _fuck, fuuuck!_ Steve has to grab onto Bucky’s arm just to hold onto something. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” He screams. “Bucky! Oh fucking shit! Don’t you fucking stop! Please don’t stop! Harder! Please, Bucky!”

There’s something at his mouth. Bucky’s thumb, his left thumb, and it’s running across his lower lip. Steve whimpers and lets them part, desperately hoping Bucky will let him suck on it. Bucky does let him, lets his metal thumb slip into his mouth and Steve sucks on it like he can pull and orgasm from it as well. He moans around it, groans around it, whimpers, whines, damn nears screams around it as Bucky keeps shoving his fingers into his prostate. 

When the orgasm shatters him, hits him hard and violent and pulls him to pieces, Steve actually shouts Bucky’s name and he’s not sure that’s ever actually happened before. Hot, sticky semen covers his stomach and he shakes as it leaves his body, laughs a little at the very end of it. 

He’s not sure how long he’s laying there, but after a little bit Bucky asks, “You okay, captain?”

Steve laugh and gives him the okay sign with his fingers. After a few more minutes, with Bucky gently tracing circles along his thigh, he reaches down on the floor and starts feeling around. 

“What are you looking for?”  
“My hoodie.”

Bucky leans over and grabs it for him and Steve wipes himself clean. 

“I’d have gotten paper towels for you, y’know.” Bucky says.  
Steve shrugs. “Gotta do laundry anyway.” He flings the hoodie into the corner and then rests against Bucky’s shoulder. “So… can I interest you in a slice of awkward silence?”  
“Nope.” Bucky chuckles. “But I’ll take a cup of wanna come to my show next Thursday?”  
“You got another show?”  
“Sure. We usually get gigs once or twice a week.” Bucky’s pulling his clothes up from off the floor, getting his pants on while still sitting on the couch. He’s pulling a cigarette out and then stops to look at Steve. “Shit. You don’t want me to do this, huh?”  
“Nope. I’d rather you not do it at all, and definitely not in here. And yeah. I’d love to come Thursday.”  
He stuffs it back in his pocket. “Cool. And I’ll wait till I get outside.”

They chat for a nearly an hour--about Sam and Sharon, and his projects that Steve refuses to show Bucky, and the instruments Bucky plays (guitar, piano, and drums) and Natasha and Maria--until Steve lets it slip that he still has a shit ton more work to get done for Monday. 

“Get your shit done.” Bucky says when Steve walks him to the door. “Text me tomorrow or during the week if you want. Or tomorrow.” He hides his face for a second. “Shut up.”  
Steve laughs. “Text me when you get home?”  
“Will do.”

Bucky steals a quick kiss before leaving and Steve is sure he’s never met anyone more adorable in his life.

***

It’s 3:30am and Steve is still at his work desk, going over and over and over this stupid design that he just can’t get right. He’s stretching his arms up high, his right resting over his head when he hears his phone buzzing. His first thought is Bucky, and it makes him smile. He’s already gotten the text that he arrived home safe and sound hours ago. Possible that it was from Sam or Sharon, who knew he was having Bucky over tonight. Both had been kind enough to remain quiet throughout though. 

It isn’t from any of them anyway. Actually, it’s from Clint. And it’s a picture text. The pic’s of Clint holding his phone at arm’s length in what Steve assumes is his bed, and Bucky is curled up next to him, passed out. There’s a message with it.

**Clint: Just so you know, this fucker is a bed hog.**

Steve rattles his head, confused by the entire situation. 

**Steve: Why is he in your bed?**

**Clint: Because SOME asshole made him watch a scary fucking movie!!!**

Laughing so damn hard he slips off the chair, Steve needs a few minutes before he can type up a reply that’s not laced with several typos. 

**Steve: hahaha! Fuck. Sorry, dude! my bad! :p**

**Clint: yea yea. You’re lucky i like you both.**

Before getting back to work and maybe finishing this up and maybe being able to relax a bit tomorrow, or today if it counted as today even though he hadn’t slept yet, Steve shoots a text to Bucky.

**Steve: You know, you could’ve slept here with me you big baby. I would’ve kept the monsters away!!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you're enjoying so far! Feel free to leave comments! And/or follow me on tumblr! 
> 
> [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://www.thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/)!


	3. I Can't Even Come up with Titles for the Whole Work

Steve Rogers. Steve fucking Rogers.

Tiny. Smart. Talented. Sexy. Hot as fuck. Sweet. Smartass. Funny. Adorable. 

Bucky can’t get enough of the little punk. During the past two weeks, he’s talked to him everyday (if not _on_ the phone, at least via text) and seen him approximately three and a half times. The 4:30am happenstance encounter at the deli when Bucky was heading home from practice on Wednesday and Steve was apparently craving pastrami and provolone to get him through the project that was due for his 11am class is the half time. 

The other two times include their gig last Thursday, where Tasha and Maria did their damndest to embarrass Bucky in front of Steve. Which they succeeded in doing very well. As if he really needed their help. 

God Steve looked hot that night, strolling in with his friends Sam and Sharon and someone he didn’t know, a long, yellow and black scarf hanging around his neck. As soon as he spotted Bucky setting up on stage he flung his arm up and waved like total dork. Only there was nothing dorky about it. He was just too precious. Tasha nudged him with her foot. 

“You’re such a loser.” She teased. “You’ve been out with that little dude once and you’re totes gaga for him.”  
“Shut up.” Bucky blushed. “I am not.”  
Maria scoffed and poked him with one of her drum sticks. “You are too. Don’t lie, Barnes.”  
They were getting closer so Bucky muttered, “You guys suck.”  
“Do we?” Tasha questioned, and Bucky immediately recognized that tone and shot her a pleading look, but it was way too late. “Hey!” She was already giving Steve and his friends her dazzling smile. “Are you Steve?”

Steve stopped in his spot and fumbled with his mouth a little. Ha. Seemed even confident little Steve Rogers wasn’t immune to Natasha Romanova. 

“Uh, yup. That’s me.” He pointed to his friends. “This is Sharon, and Sam, and Rhodey.”

Mystery solved. That’s who Bucky didn’t know. 

“I’m Nat. That’s Maria.” Maria waved, smiling at Sam. “You know this idiot.” She had bopped Bucky on the head. “For those of you who haven’t the pleasure yet, this one is Bucky.”  
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Isn’t she charming?”  
“I’m very fucking charming.” Tasha grunted. “Hey, Steve, know what?”  
Steve shook his head. “What?”  
“Bucky never fucking shuts up about you.”  
“Tasha!” Bucky exclaimed. “Fucking hell!”  
Maria laughed. “Didn’t see the bus schedule tonight, did ya, Bucks?” She trotted off the stage and down to Sam, taking him by the hand. “Come on, Sam. Let’s go get drinks.”

Bucky couldn’t watch her lead him away since he was much too busy hiding his face in his guitar case and pretending to find something in there to do even though his guitar was already on the stand next to him. Steve had come over and leaned his arms on top of the edge of the stage. 

“Talking about me, huh?” He grinned.   
“No. I mean… maybe. A little. Fuck.” Bucky grumbled a few more obscenities and then glared at Tasha who was already making friends with Sharon. “I really hate her.”  
“You do not.” Steve laughed.  
“And don’t worry about it.” Said Rhodey, who strode on over with his hands in his pockets. “I only heard about you today, but I only got in a few hours ago and you should’ve seen this kid light up.” He reached out and pinched Steve’s cheek. “Kid in a candy store, I’m telling ya’.”

Unlike Bucky, Steve didn’t get embarrassed at all. He just gave Rhodey a cheesy smile and shrugged at Bucky like being happy about him was just a simple fact. 

“So, I hear you guys are pretty good?” Rhodey commented. 

Bucky glanced at Steve. He got a lift of the eyebrows and a wink.

“Yeah, we’re not bad. Doing a lot of Coldplay and Muse tonight.”  
“Coldplay? You _are_?” Steve asked, baby blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “Are you gonna do that new song? Well, like, newer? Ish?”  
Bucky chuckled. “Which one?”  
“You know, that stars in the sky one?”  
“You want us to?”  
“Yeah! I love that song.”  
“I’ll see if we can squeeze it in.”  
Rhodey snickered and gave Bucky’s right shoulder a squeeze. “It’s those eyes, right? Can’t resist them?”  
“I’m doomed, aren’t I?”  
“You’re already a goner, I’m afraid.”

Tasha had come back over then, stole Steve away, wrapping him up in her arms, and Bucky knew why. Not like she doesn’t trust his and Clint’s judgement or anything, but Tasha is his best friend in the whole fucking world and is always judge and jury when it comes to the people Bucky brings into his life. Verdict by the end of that night? “If you fuck this one up, James? I will be exiling you to the deepest, darkest corner of Siberia.”

Second time Bucky got to see Steve, he had him all to himself at home when Clint was out with Tasha on Tuesday night after Steve insisted that he wasn’t too busy with his projects and could spare some time. (Even though the following night was the night the damn kid pulled an all-nighter). 

But he came over in pajamas pants, hat and all, and they had ordered Thai food and drank the rest of Clint’s beer. Steve rolled around on the floor with the latest Lucky and had Bucky in fucking stitches cause kid’s seriously one of the funniest guys he’s ever met. Steve wasn’t lying when he said he usually gets what he wants. Somehow, Bucky ended up trekking to the corner huddled under an umbrella with him to 7-11 because Steve was in the mood for hot-chocolate and there wasn’t any in the apartment. He even made Bucky go outside in the cold rain to smoke. Not that Bucky would have had a cigarette in the same room as Steve, not with his asthma especially, but he wouldn’t even let him go in his own room and shut the door. He even made him brush his teeth before he would kiss him.

Bucky did that one real quick cause once kissing was an option there was no holding him back. When he sat back down on the couch, teeth brushed, mouth rinsed out with mouthwash and everything, Steve was climbing onto his lap and sucking him into another series of amazing makeout sessions. 

Kissing Steve is fucking incredible. His lips are thin, but so fucking strong and just as bossy as he is. That tongue, shit that tongue does things to Bucky he didn’t even _think_ possible. It’s both long and wide at the same time, and seeks out every space in Bucky’s mouth, wants to be best friends with Bucky’s tongue. When his mouth isn’t on Bucky’s, it’s finding another spot on his body to touch and by the time Steve left that night, Bucky was covered in hickies and tiny bite marks. 

They didn’t sleep together again. Not for lack of protection. They just didn’t. Bucky got another one of his fan-fucking-tastic blowjobs though. And, yeah, that little fucker did get him begging for it again. 

After only two he’s starting to think he might do anything to have those lips wrapped around his cock, so a little begging’s really not a big deal. He _knows_ Steve’s the best he’s ever had. When Steve’s giving head, it’s like it’s the only fucking thing in the world that matters to him, the only thing he cares about. Thing of it is, Steve’s totally getting off on it, too. There’re always noises coming from him. Little whimpers and hard grunts, moans and groans, and he’s always trying to get more and more of Bucky into his mouth, swallow every last piece of him down his throat. 

Saying his name? Not a problem. Bucky will fucking scream it if he wants him to. When Bucky’s with Steve, it’s the only moment he wants to be in. Especially when _he’s_ the one making Steve beg for it. Steve falls to pieces even quicker than Bucky does. Just a few touches; light, hard, fingers, tongue, teeth, it doesn’t matter. Steve’s toes curl, his muscles tighten, he screams-- _fucking hell does he scream_ \--and Bucky hasn’t even gotten to fuck him yet. 

They’ve come to a mutual agreement, easy, no mess. No, neither of them are quite looking for anything that serious nor are they looking for just sex. They’ve decided that they’re not dating, not boyfriends. No need to change any social media status. (Bucky doesn’t have any other than for the band, but Steve does). Neither of them are going to be seeing anyone else either. However _if_ someone else _does_ come along, sex or otherwise, there’s no going behind one another’s back. Straight forward with it. They’ll talk and see what’s what when the time comes. If anything changes at all, they’ll talk and see what happens. So simple. 

Bucky wishes it was always like this. None of those ‘so what are we?’ talks when everything’s going so smoothly a few weeks in. Just out in the open right away. No complications. No messes.

***

“So, what’re we doing tonight?” Bucky asks Tasha as he packs up his sheet music.

They’re down at the ballet studio. Bucky’s been playing piano for her all afternoon so she can practice for her upcoming _Nutcracker_ performance. He’s been dancing with her as well, but today’s she spared him her speech on just sucking it up and trying for Broadway composition. It’s nearing five o’clock and normally they, meaning Bucky, Clint, Tasha and Maria, all go out to dinner and get into some sort of hijinx tonight. 

“Well, Clint and me are going to the parade and then to SHIELD.” She takes a swig from her water bottle and then tosses it to Bucky. “You’re not invited though.”

He’s about to take a sip of water but is too startled by that answer to do so.

“Wait, what? But it’s Halloween. We always go out on Halloween.”  
“Not this year.” Tasha picks up her bag and flings it over her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy your night.” She gives him a big, teeth showing smile before blowing him a kiss. “Have fun tonight.”  
“Wait! Tasha!” He calls after her as she saunters into the locker room to change.

It’s no use though. He waits for her, but no matter how much he pesters and pleads she won’t tell him why he’s not allowed to join them this year. By the time they part ways, she’s still acting as though ditching him tonight is perfectly normal. 

When he gets home, Bucky’s in something of a panic. He can’t help but think he’s done something wrong. Logically, Bucky knows that if he did do something that pissed her off, Tasha’d be the first person to let him know, tell him off until she was satisfied he got it, and then he’d know everything was fine. Still, the first thing he does when the door is closed is call out for Clint. 

“Clint!” He shouts. First answer he gets is Lucky trotting over and hopping around by his feet. He pets his or her head. “Clint?”

There’s no reply from Clint though, so Bucky goes to his room. He’s in there, changing, back to Bucky. 

“Clint?”

Still no answer. Clint is pulling a shirt over his head, so Bucky waits for him to finish before touching his arm. He turns to face him and Bucky immediately starts talking.

“How come you and Natasha are going out without me…”  
Clint holds his hand out. “Hang on, dude.” He goes back to his dresser and puts his hearing aids in. “Now… what?”  
Bucky takes in a deep breath. “Why are you guys going out without me?”  
“Aw, buddy, don’t freak out!” Clint drops his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “You got plans tonight.”  
“No I don’t.”  
“Yah, you do.” He claps one hand to his neck and kisses his cheek. “You didn’t think we’d just leave you high and dry, did you?”  
“I don’t…” Bucky rubs his hand over his face. “So, you’re not mad or nothing, right?”  
“Shit, Bucky, no. Hey, c’mon. We’ve been through this. I’d tell you. And you know Nat would.”

No, Tasha he wasn’t all too worried about. She’d let him know, no doubt about that. They’d already been through thick and thin together and if she hadn’t disappeared on him already, he doubted she would now. 

“Yeah…” Bucky nods, runs his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Fuck, Clint, I’m sorry. I just…”  
“Hey, I get it.” He tossles Bucky’s hair. “You got your shit to deal with. Promise you though, dude, you got plans with your boy tonight.”  
“Oh what?” He pulls his eyebrows in. “No. Steve’s going out with Sam and Sharon…”

A knock on the door cuts him off and Clint’s just gives him this dopey look like he’s just as shocked to hear the sound. 

“Well _shit_.” He laughs. “There seems to be someone at the door!”  
“Clint…” Bucky closes his eyes and holds back a grin. “ _What_ is going on?”  
“I have no idea! Let’s go answer the door!”

Clint drags him by his shirt to back to the door, steps to the side and opens it. Bucky almost falls over.

“Hey!” Steve greets. “Happy Halloween!”

Only it’s not just Steve. He’s there with Sam, Sharon, Maria, and Rhodey. And all of them are dressed up. Not cheesy convenient store costumes either. All out, full on kick ass costumes. Sam’s dressed as a comic book character the Falcon. Next to him is Maria, and Bucky’s never seen her get so into a costume. But there she is, dressed in a uniform from her favorite show; Agents of Badge. Rhodey is Dracula, even has realistic looking fangs on his canines. Sharon’s a pretty kick ass Robin Hood, bow and quiver and everything. But Steve, fuck, Steve is dressed as the Beast, Disney’s the Beast, and he looks amazing. Perfect. 

For once, he’s not wearing his hat. Instead, he’s swapped it for a wig that resembles a mane of wild hair. He even has furry sideburns running down his face. No glasses today either. He’s wearing contacts, so those eyes of his are standing out. 

“Hey!” Bucky greets. “You guys look awesome.” He gets a few thanks and various greetings--‘what’s up?, how’s it going, hey, loser (Maria, of course). “What’re you doing here?”  
“Coming to get you, duh.” Steve rolls his eyes. “We’re going trick-or-treating.”

Bucky’s eyes find Clint, leaned up against the wall next to the door. Arms pinned against his chest, he gives him a smile and a shrug. 

“Steve, I’m twenty-five. Don’t you think I’m a little old?”  
“To knock on people’s door, say trick-or-treat and get free fucking candy? Hell no.”  
“But I don’t have…”

And then he notices the bag in Steve’s hands. There’s something bright yellow in it and Bucky’s suddenly not liking where this might be headed. 

“What’s, uh,” He gulps. “What’s in the bag?”  
Steve wiggles his eyebrows. “Your costume.”  
“Steve…” He shakes his head. “No. No fucking way. I’m not dressing up as Belle.”  
“Oh yes you are.” He steps in, arm stretched out as though Bucky has no choice but to take the bag from him. “Come on, baby. We’re going together.” Steve tilts his head, makes his baby blues big and wide, pushes his bottom lip out. “ _Please_ , Bucky? Pretty please?”

Now that’s a look only the fucking Devil could ever resist. Bucky’s melting, coming undone and it takes all he has not to fucking whimper. 

“Aw, man.” Bucky hangs his head. “You’re too much, kid.” 

He takes the bag and then catches Rhodey as he and the others start to come in. He points to his eyes and winks. Bucky gets it. The eyes; Steve’s eyes. Irresistable. 

After a quick shower, Bucky changes into Belle’s yellow ball gown--a perfect fit, too. Bucky figures his dear old friends have been in cahoots with Steve for this. Maria joins him in his bedroom to blow dry his hair for him, using a flatiron to get it as long as possible.

“I tried to convince Steve to get you a wig.” Maria tells him as she runs a brush through his hair. “But he said no. That your hair was too pretty to cover up.”  
Bucky chuckles. “He likes to touch my hair.”  
“You like him.”  
“He’s a cool, kid.”  
“You like him enough to dress up as Belle, Bucky.”  
He sighs. “Maria, don’t. We’re just doing our thing for now, kay? Leave it alone.”  
“Whatever you say.” She puts a crown in his hair. “There you go. All done.”

He stands up and twirls from side to side, the skirt of his costume flowing with him. 

“Look good?”  
She laughs. “You make a more beautiful princess than I ever would. Come on, let’s go show your prince.”

When they get into the living room and Steve sees him, he laughs, yes, but he looks so happy Bucky knows that even with Clint and Sam and Rhodey laughing that he’ll never in his life regret this. 

“Aw, Bucky, you look gorgeous!” Steve says.

Bucky lifts the bottom of the dress up a little and gives him a courtsey. 

“Why thank you.”  
“Hang on!” Clint says. “Steve, get up there with him. I need a picture of this.”  
“Come on, sexy,” Bucky calls him over. “Let’s take a picture.”

Steve hops off the couch and stands next to him, loops their arms together just before Clint snaps a picture on his phone. 

“You know I’m sending this to everyone.” Clint says.   
“Be my guest,” Bucky says. “You know I look hot.”  
“Fuck yeah, you do!” He laughs, holding out his hand for a high-five. “Alright you crazy kids. I gotta run. Taking Tasha to dinner.”  
“Yeah, come on.” Steve announces. “We’re burning daylight!”  
“Are we really going trick-or-treating?” Bucky asks as they all head out the door.  
“Oh, Bucky,” Sharon chuckles. “You have no idea.”  
Sam laughs along. “This fucker is going to drag us around for _hours_.”  
“You’re not wearing the heels are you?” Rhodey asks.  
“Fuck no.” Bucky assures them. “I got _my_ sneakers on.” He an arm around both Maria and Sharon. “Dunno how you ladies do it.”

Maria gives him a punch in the arm and swirls out from under him. She meets up with Sam and then looks back at Bucky. 

“Dude, when have you _ever_ seen me in heels?”

Sam chuckles and kisses her temple. The two of them have already decided on a much stronger commitment than Bucky and Steve have. Bucky grins. He’s happy for Maria and Sam, but perfectly content in the way things are with he and Steve. 

Steve is suddenly at his side, slowing him down so that the others get a bit ahead of them. 

“You’re not mad, are you?” He asks quietly.   
Bucky looks down at him. “Mad at what?”  
“For the costume? I mean, I didn’t think you’d really care, but I just wanna make sure you’re not…”  
He shuts up when Bucky starts laughing. “No, Stevie. I’m not mad. Besides, I rock the fuck outta this dress anyway.”  
“And I _knew_ you would!” Steve giggles. He looks up at him and curls his finger. Bucky leans down. “Say that again.”  
“Which part?”  
“The part where you called me Stevie.”  
Bucky blushes and chuckles. “Okay, Stevie.”  
“Now kiss me.”  
“Mmm.” Bucky moistens his lips. “No problem, Stevie.”

Sharon, Sam, and Rhodey weren’t exaggerating. They walk back to Steve’s neighborhood and then spend the next four and a half hours trick-or-treating, trailing behind little kids and families, and end up with almost eight pillowcases filled with candy. Bucky has no idea how they get away with it. After all, six twenty-something year olds trick-or-treating? Bucky was sure they’d get suspicious looks, maybe even the cops called on them or something. But instead, they end up with laughs and smiles, even a few people asking to take pictures of him and Steve. Several little girls are exceptionally excited to see him dressed up as Belle. 

“This is nothing.” Steve tells him. “I’m telling you. You gotta come to a con with me. I’ll hook you up right. Everyone’ll love you.”

Steve is on Bucky’s back as they all make their way towards a bar that apparently they go to every year. Something about a costume contest that Steve has lost--“completely unfair, total and utter bullshit, I’m telling you”--to his friend, or acquaintance or something, Logan, the past two years in a row. 

“Hey, I thought you liked me like this?” Bucky pretends to pout.  
“Aw, I do, baby.” He chuckles. 

Steve moves some of Bucky’s hair away and presses kisses into his neck. 

Their adventures at the bar plays out something a little like this. They get there. It’s pretty packed. Steve enters himself--and Bucky, but he doesn’t tell him until later--in the contest. They bump into Logan, who’s dressed up in a pretty killer Wolverine costume. Steve gets a little annoyed at how awesome Logan’s costume is. Okay, immaturely annoyed. He pouts until Bucky accidently discovers how damn ticklish he is. Everyone takes turns tickling Steve until he stops being a baby. Steve actually wins. They celebrate with drinks and shots. They dance. A lot. Steve gets drunk. Drunk Steve is hilarious, rambunctious and all over the place. He giggles at everything and his cheeks are all red and he talks a million miles a minutes. They make out in the bathroom. Steve jerks him off in there but won’t let him come no matter how much Bucky begs. Drunk Steve is evil, too. 

It’s around one in the morning when Bucky is watching Sam and Rhoady try to drag Steve out of the bar even though he’s insisting, fucking adamantly, that he doesn’t want to leave yet.

“No! Come on, guys! Please! I don’t wanna!”  
“C’mon, Steve,” Sam tells him. “You have any more and you’re gonna get sick.”  
“Aw, please!”  
“Buddy, don’t give us a hard time.” Rhodey tries. “You promised.”  
“It’s like this every year.” Sharon murmurs to Bucky. “Just on Halloween.”  
“Nope!” Steve shouts. “One more!” He tells the bartender.  
“No, he’s done.” Rhodey says. 

Sam is behind him waving his fingers in front of his throat to indicate the same thing. 

“Why Halloween?” Bucky wonders, still off to the side with Sharon. “Something happen?”  
She shakes her head, shrugs one shoulder. “No. I think… you’ve only known him a few weeks, plenty of time to know how fucking big his personality is.” Bucky laughs, says, “Yeah, no kidding.” Sharon grins and continues, “But I think underneath, that sometimes he’s still scared he might still be that sick little kid he was when he was younger. Maybe that goes away tonight, all dressed up. Gets to be anyone he wants. Someone who was _never_ that sick kid.”

Bucky looks back over at Steve, still arguing with Sam and Rhodey, who have taken his wallet even though the bartender has made it clear she won’t be serving him. Next to him, Maria is kindly engaging a bunch of people in conversation, making sure less people are noticing what’s going on. Not that Steve is making a huge spectacle of himself, but if this keeps going on, a scene might happen. 

“Can I try?” Bucky asks.  
Sharon waves her hand over. “Give it a shot.”

He says nothing more and strolls over there, placing a hand on Sam and Rhodey’s shoulders. They both stop in the middle of a sentence, each talking at the same time, and glance over at Bucky. Sensing what he wants, they nod once and give him the chance to try to talk Steve into leaving. Steve’s seated on the stool, facing the bar again, so Bucky taps his shoulder.

“Hey, Steve?”

He turns around, indignant mug turning into a pleasant, yet drunk smile when he sees who it is. 

“There’s my princess!”  
Bucky smiles. “Hey, Stevie.” He says softly, and crouches down so that he’s beneath him. “Listen, baby, we gotta get going, okay?”

Steve’s shoulders fall. So does his face, all the light leaving the features that had just started to glow again. 

“Oh no, not you, too…” He whines. “Come on, Bucky, I thought you’d be on my side. I don’t wanna go home.”  
“I know, but we’re not going home.” He reminds him. “Remember?” Bucky rubs Steve’s stomach. “We’re going to the diner first. Gonna get some food in your belly.”  
“You know, if you kiss me, I’ll turn into a handsome prince.” Steve says like Bucky hasn’t said anything else about leaving.  
Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t have to kiss you. You’re already my handsome prince.”

For a moment, Steve just stares at him as though he’s stunned. His eyes are glossy, lids a bit droopy now from all the drinking, but then this cute, bashful smile pulls up on his mouth, and hot damn, Bucky realizes that he’s just made Steve blush. 

“Come on, my prince,” Bucky tries again, gently stroking the side of his face. “We have to go now.”  
“Okay.” Steve gives in, voice low and soft, just above a whisper. He’s leaning in very close to Bucky now. “But just because you’re my beautiful princess, okay?”  
Bucky presses their brows together. “You got it, buddy.”

Smiling, Bucky rises back to his feet, and the second he’s there, Steve’s arms are out for him. Bucky helps him off the stool, Steve leaning into him as they make their way towards the door. He can hear Sam, Rhodey, and Sharon murmur to Maria that it’s never been that easy. 

The fresh air helps clear some of Steve’s senses, sobers him up a bit. He’s less all over the place, settled down. Food helps, too. Steve’s more coherent and is clearly able to absorb more around him, gives them humbled, even shy thanks for getting him out of the bar when they did. The diner’s called _Yesterday_ , and is a 50s-themed typed place--records on the wall, mirrored-panels, poodle skirts and zoot-suits. There’re mini-jukeboxes at each of the booths, too, all filled with classics from the 50s and early 60s. 

While Steve’s not yet sober--nothing short of a good night’s sleep will be doing that for the little guy--Bucky knows he’s much more himself when he needs to wrestle the kid to keep his hands off his cheese fries when Steve’s finished all his own food. 

“Steve!” He laughs as those long fingers of his once again attempt to snatch up more of his fries.  
“Ah, Bucky! C’mon! Just one more?”  
“You’ve had almost half of them!” Bucky holds another out for him, but instead of taking it with his hand, Steve just snatches it with his teeth, grins with it between them and then makes a show of pulling it into his mouth. “You dork. Seriously,” He looks next to him where Sharon is seated, and then across the table at Sam and Rhodey, “where the hell does he put all this?”  
Rhodey throws his palms up. “Yo, I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.”  
“Yeah, and he _shouldn’t_ be eating it.” Sam says, a hint of scolding there in his voice. 

Steve flips him off, but Sam just shrugs like the gestures means nothing to him at all. There’s some very protective about Steve’s friends, maybe bordering on over-protective, but so far it seems to all stem from genuine concern and love. How could it not? Everyone loves this little fucker. 

“He’s right, Steve.” Rhodey agrees. “This on top of all the beer? You shouldn’t have had a burger. Should have stuck with a sandwich.”

Even with the protective bit, the statements of what he should versus shouldn’t do, none of it sounds condescending. They’re simply matter-of-fact comments. Steve’s able to take them or leave them at just that. Still, Bucky’s not quite sure what they’re talking about and turns to Sharon. She sees the question on his face.

“His blood pressure.” She informs him. “And his cholesterol. He just needs to be careful, that’s all.”  
“You know, I can _hear_ you.” Steve leans back in his chair to call out to her.   
“Wasn’t tryin’ to hide it from you, ass!” She shoots back. “And just you watch it! Keep it up and I’m gonna call Sarah on you!”  
“Ooo!” Sam taunts. “She’s bringing out _that_ card! Watch out, Steve!” Steve’s hiding his face now. “I wouldn’t wanna mess with your mama.”  
“Alright, alright!” Steve picks up a napkin and waves it like a white flag. “I surrender. Don’t call Ma, okay?”

Sam flings a half a piece of lettuce at him. It hits Steve in the chest and he picks it up, starts chewing on it, grimace on his face like ruffiage is the worst thing in the world to happen to him. 

“Is someone a bit of a mama’s boy?” Bucky teases. 

It happens fast, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type deal. An quick exchange of looks, something everyone else knows, maybe not Maria, but everyone else. Something Bucky doesn’t. Next to him, Steve takes a much too long sip of his drink for it to be as nonchalant as he wants to be. Not the time to ask though, Bucky knows that, so he won’t. 

Their saving grace is the jukeboxes that all suddenly light up. They must all be connected. Someone’s picked a song. 

“Ten bucks says it’s “Louie Louie”.” Maria bets him. 

The tension around the table vanishes immediately. Like it never existed in the first place. Except for maybe around Steve. It lingers slightly. Bucky doesn’t want to bring attention to it, so he glances around the diner quickly, checking out the patrons because he knows damn well that if he bets against Maria she’ll expect to collect. 

“Nah-ah.” He answers. “Something slow. A love song.”  
“How’d you figure that?” Rhodey asks. “It’s freaking Halloween.”

Bucky can hear the speakers coming on as they get ready to pump out whatever selection's been picked. He holds up his index finger, and sure enough, “Earth Angel” by the Penguins starts playing. Bucky smirks, gives a flicks of his eyebrows as Maria mumbles an obscenity and slams a ten dollar bill on the table. 

He doesn’t really plan on it, but as soon as Cleveland Duncan starts singing, so does Bucky. It’s almost an impulse, an addiction even. There’s a song he loves and he needs to sing along. Not just soft and quiet though. He’s not interested in holding back and he smiles when Maria immediately starts singing back up, tapping her hands on the table to keep beat despite the music already playing. Too bad Tasha’s not with them. Since he’s already facing Maria, he starts pantomiming with his hands as though he’s serenading her. She rolls her eyes, smiling, used to this. 

When the song ends and a round of applause breaks out, not just at the table, but the surrounding tables, Bucky suddenly remembers that he’s in a diner, not just in some kitchen with a group of friends. 

He laughs and waves to everyone, accepting the clapping and even a bit of whistling graciously. Then Bucky, big smile still on his face, gets a glimpse of the guy sitting next to him. Steve’s resting his chin in both his hand, elbows on the table, and has this doe eyed expression on his face. He’s looking at Bucky as though he’s seeing him for the first time. Bucky doesn’t get stage fright, never has, but with Steve giving him that look, one he doesn’t understand at all, butterflies fill his stomach and he shrinks into his shoulders. 

“What?” He squeaks.   
Steve leans his head back, not breaking the eye contact, and says, “I kinda wanna have sex with your voice.”  
“Christ, Steve!” Bucky moves forward, elbows on the table to hide his face, which is now filled with such a deep blush he can feel it reaching his neck, and quite possibly his chest. “You’ve seen me perform before!”  
“Yeah, but not like that. That was fucking _gorgeous_. I mean it’s _always_ gorgeous,” Steve says this like if Bucky doesn’t already know it he’ll smack him around, “But that was different. Like, chocolate ice cream turned into chocolate ice cream used for sex different.”

Someone throws something at Steve, Bucky can hear it hit him. Maria is laughing her head off. On the other side of him, Sharon is snickering as though this is something she’s grown accustomed to. He peeks over at Steve. Bucky’s still receiving that same look, only now there’s something lustful about it, and it makes something hot and sinful shoot through his own body, right to his balls. His dick might even be getting hard already. 

Neither have them have moved away when Rhodey says, “Okay, I think we should get the check before these two start going at it right here.”

They do just that. Get the check, all pay their share, add a tip and head out. Bucky offers to share a cab with Steve to make sure he gets home okay. One’s pulled up, sitting idle and waiting for them to get it--Steve’s saying goodbye to everyone--when Sam pulls him over to the side. He’s got his phone in his hand, looks like he’s texting something. 

“Do me a favor, would you?” Sam asks.  
“Sure, what’s up?”   
“I’m gonna send you what meds he’s suppose to take before he goes to bed. It’ll probably be okay and all, but… he just has so much on his mind right now.”  
“Why?” Bucky wonders. “Is everything okay?”

There’s that tension again, the one that hit in the diner. Sam shakes his head. 

“Shit. I’m sorry, man, but it’s not for me to say. Y’know, I just…”  
“I get it, Sam.” Bucky assures him, pulling out his own phone when he receives the text. “I’ll make sure he takes ‘em all.”  
“Hey!” Steve calls from behind the open door of the cab. “Let’s go, Belle!”  
Sam chuckles, “Better go. Don’t wanna make ‘im wait.”  
“Oh the horror.” Bucky jokes and pats Sam’s shoulder before climbing into the cab after Steve. 

There are three pillowcases full of candy at their feet, and Steve is digging through one until he retrieves whatever kind he’s searching for. 

“Did you have fun?” Steve asks as he stuffs a mini-Snickers into his mouth.   
“Yup. Tons. Thanks for dragging me.”  
Steve laughs, mouth still full of candy. “Didn’t take too much. Starting to think I can get you to do anything.”

To that, Bucky doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s not sure if Steve’s wrong or not. When he glances over at him, he realizes that Steve is actually fighting to stay awake. His head is bobbing back and forth, eyes barely open, and the yawn that takes him stretches his mouth absurdly wide. Steve doesn’t bother to cover it either. 

Bucky gently puts his arm around Steve’s shoulders and guides him towards him. That seems to wake him up a little and he smiles. Instead of leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, he pulls the wig off, making his hair all full of static, and then makes himself comfortable on Bucky’s lap. Bucky runs his hand over Steve’s hair to flatten it down. Steve’s eyes are closed, but he’s still awake; there’s a grin on his face as Bucky continues to play with his hair. 

“There’re some clothes for you on my bed.” Steve tells him when they get up to his studio.   
“Um…” Bucky rattles his head. “Not sure your stuff is gonna fit me.”  
“Ha ha, fucker. They’re yours. Nat brought them over earlier.”  
“Oh.” He laughs. “How kind of her.”

When he’s in the bathroom changing, Bucky checks the message he got from Sam, then peeks in Steve’s medicine cabinet to make sure he knows where all the right meds are, just in case. Back in the living room, Steve has settled on the couch wearing comfy pjs and seems to have just rubbed the face paint off his face with the back of his hand. 

“Hey.” He greets, voice a bit groggy and eyes getting heavy again. “Wanna make out?”  
Bucky laughs and comes over. “Yeah. But not tonight.”  
“Aw, why not?”  
“Cause you’re drunk.”  
He rolls his eyes. “Consent is sexier than me, huh?”  
Bucky pinches his fingers together. “Just that much. Hey, you want me to get your meds for you?”  
Steve blinks at him a few times. “What?”  
“The stuff you need to take. Y’know? If you want, I can get them for you. Didn’t want you to fall asleep without…”  
“I’m a fucking grown up, Bucky. I can take my medicines on my own. Been doing it for quite a few fucking years now.”

The anger that suddenly surrounds Steve surprises Bucky. He’s never seen him mad before. Sure, he hasn’t known him all that long, but this is almost the total opposite of what he’s come to know. 

“Steve… I…”  
“Who put you up to it?” Steve growls. “Was it Sam? Or Sharon?” He crushes his jaw. “Was it Rhodey? He’s only in town for a few weeks, but…”  
“Steve!” Bucky interrupts. “The fuck? I’m just trying to make sure you’re gonna be okay.”  
“Well who the fuck asked you to do that? Christ, what’d you think I did a few fucking weeks ago _before_ met you?”  
“You know what?” Bucky says, heaving off the couch and heading for the door. “Fuck this. I don’t need this bullshit. S’cuse me for fucking caring.”

Bucky pulls out the pack of cigarettes that Tasha was thoughtful enough to shove into the pocket of his sweats. He pops the end of a cigarette in his mouth with no intention of lighting it until he gets outside when he hears a soft, almost pathetic voice just as he reaches for the doorknob. 

“Bucky?”

That’s enough to get him to fumble with the doorknob, even trip over his own feet. He stops, looks back at Steve. He’s sitting upright, right in the middle of the couch, staring after Bucky like he’s about to burst into tears. His mouth opens once, twice, then he folds his lips in.

“Please don’t leave.” He implores, voice cracking just slightly. He’s fiddling with his fingers, even chewing on his lip. “I’m sorry.”  
Bucky takes the cigarette out of his mouth. “You’re not gonna make a habit of that, are you? Flipping out on me? Cause I’m not gonna stick around for that.”  
He shakes his head quickly. “No. I swear. You can ask. I’ll go take my medicines now. You can watch if you want.”  
“Go take your stuff.” He tells him, putting the cigarette behind his ear. “I’ll put a movie on. Keep your spot warm.”

The relief that settles around him it palpable, even makes its way into Bucky. They both smile, a little bit awkward, a little bit normal, and Steve goes to take the medications he needs to take. He’s back in just a few minutes, and seems pleasantly surprised that Bucky’s chosen _Phantom of the Opera_.

“I’m surprised you have it.” Bucky tells him.  
“Hey, I have good taste. Besides, why wouldn’t I want something with both Emmy Rossum and Gerard Butler?”  
Bucky chuckles. “You make an excellent point. I fucking love this version, too. I think Gerard Butler makes an excellent Phantom. Did you know he never had an professional singing experience before getting the part?”  
“Uh, no, no I didn’t know that. Bucky?”  
“Yeah?”  
Steve’s giving him quite the sheepish look. “Are… uh, are we okay?”

Bucky’s sitting on the couch, Steve’s standing just to the side of it. He’s swaying just slightly, still a little drunk, and Bucky takes the end of his fingers to bring him over, pulling him onto his lap. He wraps Steve in his arms. 

“Yeah, buddy. We’re okay.”

Steve tilts his head up and kisses Bucky’s chin. He grabs the remote up from the spot on the floor and starts the movie. It’s barely into the first scene when Steve is giving him something of a mischievous look. 

“Hey, Bucky?”  
“Yes, Steve?”  
“So, remember that thing I said about your voice? Not the sex thing, though that part’s still true.”

Bucky blushes. He’s not sure why Steve complimenting his voice gets him going like this so much. 

“You mean about my voice being gorgeous?”  
“Yup, that’s it.”  
“Okay. What about it?”  
“Can you sing along with them? _Please_?”

Bucky gives a coy chuckle into Steve’s hair and peeks down at him to find that endearing expression still on his face.

“Okay, Stevie.” He whispers.

So he does. Bucky sings along with the movie, softly, just for Steve, who watches him almost the whole time as though completely mesmerized. It’s like he’s fanboying or something, like Bucky’s his favorite celebrity and giving him a private show. Steve only makes it about forty-five minutes into the movie though, and is drooling into Bucky’s shirt in the middle of _Music of the Night_.


	4. Chapter 4

So what’re the newest items that top the list of things that turn Steve on? 

Bucky’s voice  
Bucky’s hair  
Bucky’s tattoos  
Bucky’s voice  
Bucky’s fingers  
Bucky on stage  
Bucky’s laugh  
Bucky’s tongue  
Bucky’s lips  
Bucky’s voice

Bucky fucking Barnes.

So basically, Bucky Barnes has just taken over every part of Steve’s body. When he hears Bucky? Steve wants to fuck. When he sees Bucky? Steve wants to fuck. When he thinks about Bucky? Steve wants to fuck. 

Two days after Halloween, Steve finally got to have Bucky inside of him, too. They were at Bucky’s, alone since Clint and Nat had already headed out to the movies. 

The evening had started out innocently enough. They’d been parked on the couch, and Steve was rubbing Bucky’s feet. T.V. was off, they were just talking, which they do quite often, about everything and anything. In that particular moment, Steve was explaining the premise of one of his favorite animes. If Bucky wasn’t actually interested, Steve had no idea; either he really was or he knew how to fake intrigue really well. Bucky kept asking questions about it, about the animation and the dialogue and then about the music--Steve looked it up on his phone for him. Then Bucky excused himself for a second. Said he was hot, wanted to changed out of his sweatshirt.

After just a moment, Steve hopped off the couch and followed Bucky into his bedroom. Steve likes Bucky’s bedroom. It’s a nice sized room, big enough to comfortably fit a queen-sized bed, and unlike Steve’s place, it’s free of clutter. There are three guitars neatly displayed in the right corner of the room--Bucky says the blue strat is his favorite (it’s the one he uses most, too). He has a keyboard, too, sheet music that he won’t admit has original music on it even though Steve can clearly see that he’s composing something. He’s got a bunch of movies in the drawer under his television stand, none of them scary, but he does have a killer porn collection. 

Bucky, shirtless, looked over his shoulder when Steve entered the room. Not like Steve was trying to sneak in on him or anything, so he wasn’t being quiet.

“What’s up?”  
Steve shrugged. “Just making sure you’re not trying to sneak a cigarette.”

Bucky had scoffed, smiled too. But Steve was lying anyway. That just popped into his head so he said it. The real reason he followed him into his bedroom was to be with him. But once Steve saw him standing there with no shirt on his motives changed. The entire atmosphere changed. They both felt it, he could see it by the way Bucky’s gaze intensified, and Steve practically charged at him. 

Their mouths crashed together, hands quickly shedding every stitch of clothes, breaths backing up. Steve’s fingers suddenly ached to touch a spot they’d never been before. He didn’t though, stopped short just before making contact. Bucky had pulled away from his mouth to watch him when Steve glanced up, seeking permission. Eyes closing softly, Bucky licked his lips and nodded, and Steve gently stroked fingertips along the scarring where metal met flesh. Bucky sucked in a deep breath, pleasant, Steve thought, and when he saw those lips he enjoyed so much pull into a contented grin, he pressed his own lips to that spot. Soft, tender, loving. Kissed up and down. Bucky’s left thumb grazed along his jawline as he did that and he suddenly let out a moan, his head falling back. 

When Steve lifted his chin back up, Bucky panted and then gathered him up into his arms. Steve was almost startled by the movements, but giggled, until Bucky had him pinned up high against the wall. He needed to wrap his legs over Bucky’s shoulders just to do something with them and when Bucky sucked his dick into his mouth, Steve let out a fucking yelp.

“Oh! Oh, _fuck_ , fuck! Bucky, don’t… don’t stop… shit… feels so good…” 

Fingers tangling through his favorite head of hair, Steve tugged and pulled, not hard, not really, just to hold onto something as Bucky sucked him off into oblivion. Steve was seeing stars, screaming his fucking head off and would have cried when Bucky let his dick slip from his mouth if he hadn’t said, “Steve, I need to be inside of you. Can I?”  
“Oh fuck, yes. Please, Bucky, fucking _please_.”

Bucky tore him away from the wall, put him on the bed, probably would have dropped him if he wasn’t afraid of giving him an asthma attack. Bucky walked, fucking sauntered over to his dresser just to toy with him, and got a condom and bottle of lube, tossed the lube onto the bed. 

“Start opening yourself up,” He told him. “I wanna watch.”

Steve had whimpered, but Bucky promised he’d help after a little bit. Which he had, after Steve had worked up to two fingers and Bucky was gently stroking himself while watching. Steve couldn’t tell which was hotter, watching Bucky watching or watching Bucky touching himself. When Bucky _finally_ came over to help, okay so really it wasn’t that long, but it felt like an eternity to Steve, he avoided hitting Steve’s prostate, which Steve already knew he could do so easily with his fingers. Steve had whimpered and squirmed, tried to get himself further onto those fingers to hit it himself to no avail and Bucky had just snickered at his struggling. 

Once Bucky deemed him ready, which basically meant he was just done tormenting him, he rolled the condom on and first took his time entering Steve. Steve had hissed at first, he always does, but that first bit of pain feels fucking incredible. That hiss then turned to moans, then groans, then yells and, “Fuck!, oh shit, Bucky, fuck!”

“Steve, holy shit, Stevie, you feel so fucking good…” Bucky had panted.

He had taken hold of both Steve’s wrists in his hand, pinned his arms above his head. Those steel-blue eyes of his had the question in them, ‘is that okay?’, but he hadn’t stopped, just as Steve requested. Steve smiled and nodded, because holy shit that was more than okay. The trust he felt, the heat the ran through his whole fucking body, it was incredible. 

Once again, Steve had screamed Bucky’s name when he came. It was uncontrollable. He needed to do it, needed him to hear that he was the one responsible for causing such amazing things to happen to his body. He was still in the middle of groaning, still riding his climax when Bucky seized, slamming his lips against Steve’s and coming himself. 

Their brows were pressed together, Bucky’s eyes closed, Steve’s opened, and they pecked a few kisses. Bucky’s fingers were still tangled around Steve’s wrists, and they both glanced up at them at the same time and giggled. He let go and then slowly, careful and gentle, pulled out and rolled off. 

Really, anyone Steve might have sex with in the future better have the damn Karma Sutra memorized since Bucky’s totally ruined it for him. Because sex with Bucky is simply mind blowing. 

And even though Steve’s always wanting to have sex with the guy, inside, outside, right now, right then, he’s perfectly content when they’re _not_ having sex, too. Like when they just goof off, which they do a lot; a lot, a lot. 

Bucky will let Steve put braids in his hair, they’ll bicker, maybe have full out war, over Maria Kart (Bucky doesn’t like violent video games, so Steve sticks to playing Call of Duty with Sam, Nat, and Clint, while Bucky and Maria have taken to giving Sharon guitar lessons) and Steve’s pretty much become the band’s number one groupie. Forget it when Bucky not only realized that Steve was ticklish (right, so he discovered that on Halloween, but Steve likes to pretend that _didn’t_ happen) but that Steve secretly loves to _be_ tickled. It’s not even really a sex thing. Just… playful. Intimate. Fun.

“Oh _really_?!” Bucky questioned.  
“No, no…” Steve fibbed. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”  
“Okay. I won’t bother then.”  
Steve whined. “Okay, okay.” He admitted it. “I like it, I like it. Do it again?”

Bucky laughed, ran his fingers across Steve’s ribs and made him giggle like crazy. 

He does that more often now, usually just in private, like something that connects just the two of them. He’s careful about it though, knows it _may_ cause an asthma attack, knows it _might_ aggravate his heart. Steve doesn’t feel babied though, _hates_ feeling babied, like he stupidly, drunkenly, had on Halloween. That was his fault, Steve knows that, knows that Bucky and whoever had suggested that Bucky check about his meds--since there was no way Bucky knew enough to think of that on his own yet--were only looking out for him. Steve probably _would_ have skipped his meds that night. Not the worst thing, one dose of them all missed, but not the wisest. Steve does sometimes forget when he’s under a mountain of stress. 

And right now, Steve’s about to burn the fucking boro of Brooklyn down.

“God damn! Fuck it all!” He shouts, flinging a pencil across the room. 

Steve drops his head down on his drawing desk. The four easels that are usually covered in sheets aren’t covered right now. There’s no one here to hide them from at the moment, but, really, Steve doesn’t even want to fucking look at them. What he really wants to do is fucking throw them out the window. Those and canvases stacked against the wall. Probably the ones already turned in at school, too. Met with professors approval. 

The semester ends in approximately four weeks. That’s less than four weeks that he has to get all this done, because in less than that time he has a fucking showcase to get ready of just his art. This should be an exciting thing. It’s not. Oh Jesus Christ is it not. Three quarters of his final grade’s worth of not fun. 

He grabs the sketch he’s spent the past thirty minutes on and tears it up. First in half, then the halves in half, them in half, once more and flings them all up over his head. Three days now he’s been cooped up inside, escaping only for coffee, early morning and late night caffeine fueled inspiration runs. 

Steve snatches a pencil from the mason jar on his desk and brings it down to the fresh page sitting there, just mocking him. As soon as the lead touches it, it snaps, shatters, the sound of it pretty much echoing in the entire place and screaming at Steve _fuck you_! Steve lets out a disgruntled, more like infuriated, growl and grabs his phone.

**This sucks! Life sucks!! THe world sucks!1!! Art sucks! Pratt Scusk! I suck!!**

Steve buries his face in his arms, tense and rigid but resting on his desk for a few minutes before his phone goes off. He lifts just his head to read the response. 

**Bucky: Yeah. You suck. But I like it when you suck.**

He’s not in the mood to laugh. Doesn’t want to laugh. Steve is mad. Steve is so fucking pissed off. And Bucky’s gone and made him laugh. In spite of everything, Steve smiles.

**Steve: I hate you.**

It’s actually a little longer than usual before Steve gets a reply this time, but when he does, it’s a video reply. Steve hits play and it’s Bucky sitting on his bed, favorite guitar across his lap. He looks at the phone, probably positioned on his keyboard, and smiles before he starts playing and singing a very punk rock rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”. 

He’s about halfway through it when he suddenly stops, the last cord hanging in the air, and whips his head to the side. Clint comes into frame and tackles Bucky onto the bed, takes his pillow and starts hitting him with it.

“Shut the fuck up, dude! We’re watching a fucking movie!”  
“Sorry!” Bucky laughs. “I’m sorry!”

Nat appears next and picks up the phone, holds it up and gives a smile into the camera.

“If this is for Steve, sorry, Steve.” She says with an added wink before the video cuts out.

Steve’s laughing with his head still down on the desk when he gets another text.

**Bucky: I just got my ass kicked for you. Hope you’re happy.**

He chuckles. Types a quick answer.

**Steve: Not happy. Totally not happy. But you made me smile.**

**Bucky: Break time? Wanna go for a walk?**

**Steve: Yes please???**

**Bucky: Meet at the bridge?**

Steve scoffs as he types back.

**Steve: Can you be any more cliche**

**Bucky: Probably. Unless you DON’T want me to meet you. >:X**

**Steve: Sorry! I’ll meet you at the bridge. xoxo**

**Bucky: ;) see you in a few.**

Steve stuffs his phone into his pocket and grabs his hat off the corner of his desk. He first grabs his hoodie, then remembers it’s now mid-November, and despite having been unseasonably warm this fall, it’s been getting colder pretty quick, so he opts for his green jacket. It’s heavier than his hoodie, lighter than any of his winter coats. Vintage looking, that’s what Sharon calls it. Big pockets and copper buttons, like something from a World War II uniform. 

It doesn’t even take a full twenty minutes to reach the bridge, and when Steve gets there, he sees Bucky leaning against the railing and smoking a cigarette. His gaze is focused to the west, towards the Manhattan skyline, lit up against the darkening sky. 

Since he’s not been spotted yet, Steve creeps up on him and pokes all his fingers into Bucky’s sides. 

“Hey, jerk!” He exclaims as Bucky leaps away and yelps. 

Bucky looks back at him with a chuckle. He takes one last drag of his smoke before dropping it and snuffing it out with the toes of his combat boot. 

“You punk.” He says. “I come all the way out here and this is the thanks I get?”  
“Mmm.” Steve wraps his arms around his waist. “M’sorry. Thanks for coming.”  
“Uh-huh.” Bucky mumbles, but kisses the top of his head. “Wanna head that way?”

He jerks his chin across the bridge, at Manhattan where lights are twinkling and horns are honking and people are bustling. 

“Yeah sure.”

Bucky swings his arm over Steve’s shoulder and they start over the bridge. They’re quiet, not filling the silence with their normal playful banter. It’s okay though. Steve’s been frustrated for hours and just being with Bucky is making him feel better. He rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder as they take the almost two mile trip to the city.

They go straight to a Dunkin Donuts, which, yeah, they could have just gone to on their side of the bridge, but the fresh air feels really fucking nice, even if it ended up with Bucky giggling at Steve’s bright pink ‘bunny’ nose as Bucky calls it. Bucky gets himself a poppy-seed bagel with cream cheese and a hot chocolate with whipped cream, orders a strawberry and cheese Danish and sugar cookie Latte for Steve. 

At the table Bucky swipes his finger through some of the cream cheese of his bagel and sucks it off his finger. He says, “So, are we avoiding talking about your work?”  
“Completely.” Steve answers, taking a big bite of his Danish. “One hundred percent. No work discussions.”  
“Got it.” He sips his hot chocolate and then clears his throat. “Listen, Steve, I, uh, I made a little mistake.”  
“Uh-oh.” Steve leans back in his chair and folds his arms. “If it’s bad enough to I get to punish you?”

Bucky pushes his bottom lip out. God he’s so fucking adorable when he does that. If there was any possibility of getting away with it, Steve would be climbing across the table and jumping his balls right now. 

“I guess I’ll make that your call.” He gives him a wink before going on. “I sorta let it slip to my pesky sister that I’ve been sleeping with someone regularly and now she’s been bugging my ass to meet you.”  
“Is that so?” Steve chuckles. “And you don’t want her to meet your geeky fuck buddy?”  
“What? No, ass, that’s not it.” He rolls his eyes at Steve’s jesting. “It’s just, remember how I told you that she’s been with the same foster family for a while now?”

They’ve taken her in, is what Bucky’s told him about the whole thing. Even though she’s now nineteen, she’s been welcome to stay, like part of the family. Steve’s often wondered if Bucky’s ever jealous. Not bitter, but just a little jealous. From what he understands, the family that had them when he turned eighteen kicked him out just a week later. No check from the government, no need to give him a roof over his head. His sister left right after, moved in with this family. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “I remember.”  
“Well, the Dugans,” He pauses, “That’s them. They’ll have Thanksgiving dinner Wednesday instead of on Thursday.”  
“How come?”  
“Cause they still have a bunch of foster kids, and some of their parents are trying to get better, like legit trying, so they’ll actually _spend_ holidays with their kids.” Bucky’s voice goes sour for just a moment. “The Dugans’ll throw a big dinner the day before instead so they can all spend it together. I told you, they’re good people. I, uh, I go every year. So, y’know, I was wondering, just to get Becca off my back and all…”  
“Aw, Bucky,” Steve places his hand over his heart. “Are you inviting me to Thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday?”  
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Ah, c’mon, dick, don’t make it weird.”  
“Okay, okay.” Steve laughs. “Sure, Buck. I’d love to come to dinner.” He takes off his hat for a second, runs fingers through his hair before putting it back on. “Just so we’re clear though, I mean, this is not… right? We’re still… seeing where it goes?”  
“Oh yeah!” Bucky agrees. “Nothing’s changed. We’re still good.”

Steve readjusts his glasses and smiles before looking down at his cup, taking a sip from it. Neither of them are coming out and saying what they mean, but they both get it, and they’re both still on the same page. Still simple. Still easy. Not complicated.

______________________

Steve is running late. Of fucking course he’s running late. Of all days for him to be running late it just has to be today. He’s been running around all morning to avoid this, but it’s not been working to his advantage. At least his pie is done baking. Well, he finished at three in the morning. Dunno if it’s any _good_ , even though he followed his Ma’s recipe to the last detail, but, one can only hope.

He’s completely out of time. If he takes any longer, he’s going to make Bucky miss his train. Foregoing any further attempts to make his hair more presentable, he straightens his tie and fixes his collar to hide the hickies on his lower neck. Steve grabs his hat and black, woolen duffle coat, then heads out the door. Groaning, he sprints back in to get his inhaler and the pie he spent five fucking hours making.

Bucky’s waiting for him at the Atlantic Terminal by the Barclays Center. Smoking again, this time actively looking for Steve. When he sees him, he looks at his wrist even though it’s empty of a watch. 

“I know, I know!” Steve groans as soon as he knows Bucky will hear him. “I’m so sorry! I was up late and I overslept and then I got milk on the shirt I had on…”  
Bucky laughs. “It’s alright. We still have some time.” He looks Steve up and down. “Well look at this. Little punk can clean up, huh?” He runs his hand under the oversized collar of his jacket. “Look how spiffy you are.”

Steve rolls his eyes. Unlike Bucky, still sporting his typical leather jacket and black jeans, Steve’s got on khakis and a black button down, a thin tie as well. Bucky’s got on a red shirt though, plaid button down tee that matches. He looks nice. 

“Should we go?” Steve asks. “I gotta get a ticket, right?”  
“Nah. I got one for you, punk.” Bucky points to the tupperware Steve’s carrying as they head down into the station. “What’s that you got?”  
“Apple pie.”  
“Aw, honey, you baked.”  
“Shut up. Now you can’t have any.”

Bucky snickers, puts his chin on Steve’s head while they make they make their way to the time board. Their track number comes up just seconds after they get there and they find seats across from another with plenty of time to spare. 

They’re taking the train to a town on Long Island, that’s supposed to be about forty minutes away. The conductor tells them to transfer at another station. Steve is staring out the window, watching the different towns pass by when Bucky nudges his ankle. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks.  
“Huh?”  
“You look nervous. Are you nervous or something?” Steve glances back out the window, feels the blush creeping into his skin, even his ears burning. “Holy shit!” Bucky laughs. “You _are_ nervous! Are you a fucking pod person or something? Cause there’s no way you’re the same kid who sucked my dick the first time you had me over.”  
“Fuck you.” Steve pulls his hat over his eyes. “This is different.”  
“Why?”  
“Cause I already knew _you_ liked me.” 

Bucky’s still laughing, but now he’s hopping over so that he can sit next to him. He curls up on the seat with his head in Steve’s lap, pushes his hat away from his eyes, and peers up at him. 

“Yeah, I did. Still do, buddy. You’re worried my sister might not like you?” Steve just shrugs. “Well, y’know, don’t. Cause she will. Plus, there’s something I gotta tell you about Becca.”  
“What?”  
“So, she’s only nineteen and all, but, well, she’s…”

Bucky’s twisted up his face. He sits upright again, tugs a bit at his ear. Steve gazes up at him. 

“What is it, Buck?”  
“It’s just… I just want you to be prepared. She’s got a kid. Two year old little girl.”  
“Jesus Christ, Bucky! I’m thinking you’re gonna tell me she’s a mass murderer or something! The fuck you think I’d do? Call the morality police or something?”

Bucky slowly turns his head, a playfully slow turn, and glares at him with a pursed smirk. Without any warning whatsoever, Bucky’s fingers are digging into Steve’s ribs, and Steve collapses into his lap, curling into him and giggling into Bucky’s stomach.

“Bucky!” He yelps. 

Bucky’s fingers stop. 

Steve catches his breath, looks up at him, and then opens himself back up for a little more. Bucky laughs, gives him what he wants, what Steve’s sure they both want, a little more tickling, to which Steve giggles at, before Bucky wraps his arms around him and they simply enjoy the rest of the train ride.

“Whoa…” Steve murmurs when he gets a look at the town Bucky’s brought him to.  
“Tell me about it.”

They’re standing on the raised-platform station that overlooks a few blocks of the neighborhood. The houses are fucking huge. As in, Steve and Bucky are ridiculously underdressed huge. This place smells of autumn, of crisp air and falling leaves. The streets are lined with trees, too, those left with leaves all brightly colored, golds and auburns shining in the sun. It’s quiet. No honking horns echoing off tall buildings or buses pulling away. Just quiet. 

“Got your pie, Stevie?” Bucky teases.  
Steve sighs. “Jerk.”  
He snickers. “Come on. It’s just at the end of that block.”

The house they go to is the second biggest on the block. A huge tudor, neatly groomed yard, curved driveway in front. There are tons of windows, bay window--by the living room probably--and stained glass somewhere on second floor. The door is dark brown, has an old, antique looking knocker on it. Bucky ignores the knocker and just knocks with his fist. 

It opens quickly and standing there is a young man, somewhere between Steve and Bucky’s age, wearing a sweater vest, black slacks and a bowler hat.

“Bucky!” He exclaims. “Alright! Whole family’s here!”

Steve can see the shy smile that Bucky tries to hide. He’s said that these people are nice, nice enough that whoever this is has included Bucky as part of the family. Steve likes them already. 

“Hey, Dum-Dum.” Bucky greets and then pulls Steve forward. “This is my buddy Steve. Steve, this is Dum-Dum, my sister’s foster brother.”  
Dum-Dum extends a hand. “How’s it going, Steve? Name’s actually Tim, y’know, ‘fore you go assuming my parents named me Dum-Dum or something.”  
“Kay, well, which do you prefer?” Steve asks.  
“Oh, Dum-Dum’s fine.”  
“Alright, Dum-Dum, it’s nice to meet you.”  
“Cool.” Dum-Dum laughs. “Come on in, guys. Becca’s in the living room with Raven.”

Dum-Dum gives a shout that Bucky (and Steve, even though no one can know Steve except through Bucky’s sister) is here. He takes their coats, hangs them up in the closet in the front hall and they make their way to the living room. The inside of the house is just as beautiful as the outside. Big, winding staircase, polished wooden floors, high, vaulted ceilings, natural lighting--Steve could have a field day doing work in there--modern decor. It’s all just gorgeous. 

It’s a good thing the living room is so big since it’s full of so many people. Like, fucking packed. Steve’s not sure where to look. There are at least twelve people in there, and he’s pretty sure that when he and Bucky enter, it makes Bucky the oldest one. Three people are seated on the couch, only one with a toddler on her lap--a little girl in a purple dress and superhero cape, light brown hair done up in pigtails. 

“Hey, Raven,” Steve assumes that’s Bucky’s sister, and she murmurs in the little girl’s and points to where Bucky is. “Look who’s here.”

The little girl looks and, God bless that precious face, Steve’s going to need to punch a wall to feel any bit of masculinity ever again, her face lights up so much he thinks he’s going to pass out from the cuteness. 

“Bucky bear!” She squeaks and squirms off her mother’s laps to charge over to him.  
Bucky crouches down, arms out. “Raven-ator!”

He scoops her up and spins around, planting kisses into her chubby cheek and then blowing raspberries into her neck and, nope, nuh-ah, there’s never, ever going to be anything cuter than this. Punk rocker, covered in tattoos and piercings, playing with his two-year-old niece is hand’s down the greatest thing Steve’s ever seen. 

“I got something for you.” Bucky tells her, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lollipop.  
“Oo!” She coos. “Ollipop!”  
“What’d you say, Raven?” Her mom says as she comes over. 

Now that she has her candy, Raven is wrestling to get down. Bucky sets her on her feet, takes the wrapper off for her. 

“Thank you!” She says, runs back to the couch and starts eating the lollipop.  
“Hey!” Bucky greets his sister when she kisses his cheek. “Happy almost Thanksgiving.”  
She smiles and rolls her eyes. “Happy _Thanksgiving_.” She hugs him tightly. “Hi, Bucky.”  
Bucky grins in suit. “Hi, Becca.” When he pulls away, he puts his hands on her shoulders. “Becca, this is Steve. Steve, Becca.”  
“Steve!” She holds her hands out like she’s going to hug him, but doesn’t. Becca’s pretty. Very light skin, rosy cheeks, dark brown eyes, darker brown hair that curls slightly at the bottom and falls just past her shoulders. She looks up at Bucky. “ _Bucky_ , he’s adorable!”  
Bucky rolls his eyes. “ _Becca_ , he can _hear_ you.”  
“I’m just saying.” She scoffs and turns back to Steve. “You are, you know. Totally adorable. What the hell are you doing,” she adds air quotes here, “‘not dating’ my asshole brother?”

Bucky groans and rolls his head back. But Steve laughs. He already knows he’s going to get along with Becca.

“I _am_ adorable, aren’t I?” He laughs. “And you know, between you and me,” Steve lowers his voice, “I’d tell you why I’m with him, but seeing as he’s your brother and all…”  
“ _Steve_!” Bucky shrieks. 

But Becca bursts out laughing and now gives Steve that hug she held back before. 

“Sorry, Bucky,” She says to him. “I’m stealing him and never, ever giving him back.”  
Bucky flings his hands at them. “You can keep ‘im.”

When Steve gives him pouty look, Bucky shakes his head, like he’s saying never. 

Turns out there are so many people there because like with Becca, the Dugans have invited their oldest foster children to stay in their home for as long as they like, which, including Becca is three. They also _still_ have five foster children in the care and four biological children of their own. 

Steve was way wrong about being underdressed, too. In fact, given his tie, he’s pretty much the most formal there. Maybe not including Dum-Dum with his bowler hat, which apparently he’s trying to make a thing again. Bucky is spot on when saying how nice the family is. Mrs. Dugan is a sweet as can be, thanks Steve profusely for the pie (scolds Bucky for teasing him about it, too, and Steve gives him a quick “haha, you got in trouble” for it) and refuses to let him help with any of the cooking. Mr. Dugan is just as sweet, bustles between the kitchen and the living room as he both helps with cooking and sorts through Christmas decorations they’ll be putting up tomorrow (he allows Steve to help with that). 

Dinner is absolutely delicious. Right before they eat, they say grace, and the Dugans are so accommodating that they assure Steve it’s perfectly acceptable if he feels more comfortable sitting in the living room while they do so. He doesn’t, and he laughs along with them as they eat and follow their tradition of going around the table saying things they’re all thankful for. Among those named are family and, football, and candy, hot shortstops and sugar cookies, and friends, and children, fairies, and animals, books, and movies, hugs and kisses. 

“My beautiful daughter.” Becca says. “For family in the most unexpected places,” Mrs. Dugan wipes her eyes, “And my idiot brother.” She mouths ‘Love you’ to him.

Bucky grins and then takes his turn. “Uh, I’m thankful for a place at this table.” Mr. Dugan gives him a pat on the back. “And my _loving_ sister. Superhero princesses.” He pinches Raven’s cheek. “And ballerinas. Hearing aids. Drummers.” He lifts his left arm. “Modern science. Perfectly tuned stratocasters. And…” Bucky starts pushing some food around on his plate. “And uh…” His voice drops. “And meeting Steve.”

Steve, who was listening, but very busy stuffing some more sweet potatoes in his mouth, nearly chokes, as that was pretty much the last thing he expected to hear. He whips his gaze at him, eyes wide and smile even wider. 

“Shut up.” Bucky mutters. “Just take your turn.”  
Steve wipes his mouth. “Okay. Um. Let’s see. I’m thankful for, fresh paint, all my buddies, and coffee, 24 hour places that _serve_ coffee, and…” He pauses, feels his chest get tight, “Borrowed time.” That part his says softly. He knows no one knows what he means by that, not even Bucky, but the glands in his throat feel three sizes too big. If he doesn’t do something soon, he might burst into tears. “And, Princess Belle.” Bucky laughs and hides his face. “And the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”

Bucky peeks at him from out of his hands, big goofy smile on his face. Steve pokes his tongue out at him. 

They serve Steve’s pie with dessert, which, came out pretty fucking good, if he does say so himself. Steve allows Bucky to have a small slice despite all the earlier teasing, but it’s only after the _please? Please, Stevie? Please, please, please?_

By the end of the night, Steve feels nice and toasty, warm. But there’s something cold poking at him. Tomorrow is actually Thanksgiving. There will be no turkey dinner for him. No family to sit around with saying what they’re thankful for. Only a cold room in the morning. The beep, beep, beeps of machines. Results he already knows. 

**___________________**

 

Penn Station. Almost always packed, roaring with life, people rushing for trains, bustling in out and of stores while they wait for trains, people just sitting around and eating, fast food or baked goods. Today it’s all that times two. Thanksgiving doesn’t slow anything down, it speeds it all up. 

Steve doesn’t know why they continue to do this. Well, no, he does. It’s because they like it. It’s theirs. So even if there’s a million fucking people crammed into the station, just getting in to do whatever or trying to get out of the city because they just _had_ to stand around in the cold to get a glimpse of big ass balloons at the parade, Steve stares up at the board. 

Eyes can’t really make out the times this year though, even with his glasses on. There’s a bony hand in his. Thin and cold. It wasn’t always cold. Her hands were warm and strong. Warm hands that held him when he was sick, tucked him in, read him bedtime stories, held flashlights to check under the bed for monsters, pressed tissues to his nose for him, tickled him, fed him when he was sick, gave him his medicines, bandaged his cuts. Warm hands now cold, sometimes too weak to even hold his. He swallows down his tears. Her other hand touches his cheek, pull him back into Penn Station with her.

“Where’d you go, Baby?” She asks. “You’re not back at the hospital are you?”  
Steve shakes his head. “No, Ma. I’m just thinking.”  
“Ah.” Sarah guides his chin up so that he’s looking right at her. “I don’t know what you expected, Baby.”  
“No, I know.” A chill runs down Steve’s spine. “I just… I don’t know.”  
“Still hoping. I get it.” She strokes his face. The feeling might be different, thin hand, cold hand, same hand though. “It’s done, sweetie. Nothing’s going to change.”

And here’s what he’s been keeping from Bucky. Hasn’t wanted to tell him. Because telling him would make it even more real, cement it into reality, make it completely permanent. His Ma is sick. Real sick. On borrowed time now sick. Somewhere inside Steve already knew that, that it’s not going to change, she’s never going to get better. Sarah had stopped responding to conventional treatments in July, right after they all celebrated Steve’s birthday. Fourth a July in the Hamptons, a big birthday bash, the works, fireworks show and everything all paid for by Tony. It was like Tony knew or something. Sarah was there; of course she was, because all Steve’s friends love Sarah. It was the last time they were all together--everyone, minus Clint and now Steve regrets that so much, wishes he’d have thought to reach out to him. 

There are some experimental treatments, but Sarah’s refused. No, she’s done, she says. Doesn’t matter how much Steve begs her to give them a try, she says no. Too tired, just doesn’t have it in her. Truth is, she’s been more herself since she’s made this decision. Steve’s not sure what hurts more. 

The doctors today just did a few routines tests. Only took a few hours, so it wasn’t bad. Still gives them some time for their tradition. Told them more of the same. No worse, not really, but no better. Not going to get better. 

Steve sighs, says, “I should be with you more.”  
“No. You have school. You don’t need to be taking care of me if you’re going to be doing your projects.”  
“Ma, I can take the rest of the semester off. Move back in…”  
“Absolutely _not_.” She practically growls. “You have your own life, and I have Darcie.” Her live in nurse. “I did not bust my ass all those years just so I can have my son mooching off me now.”

She’s teasing him. Steve chuckles. A little. Not much. Her career as a nurse has helped in getting her amazing home care. Darcie is wonderful, calls Steve everyday with updates. He’s not worried in that sense. Steve talks with Sarah multiple times a day, sees her at least twice a week. It’s not enough. After everything she’s done for him… 

“Ma, really, I can probably arrange something with the Dean. I mean…”  
“Steven Grant Rogers, I will _not_ discuss this with you again. You aren’t moving out of your place and back in with me just because I’m going to die.”  
“Ma…”  
“Steve,” She doesn’t let him say anything. “It’s just the truth. I’m gonna die, baby. And you have a life. I need you to keep on living it. Need to _know_ that you’re living it while I’m still here, too. I don’t think you know what it’ll do to me if I see you stop _because_ of me.” Her hands touch his face again. “Okay?”

That’s that. It’s just that simple. There will be no convincing her otherwise. What Sarah Rogers wants, Sarah Rogers gets. And there’s just no way Steve could ever say no to her anyway. He loves her too much. 

“Okay.”

She must see the way he’s holding his breath, contorting his face to keep from doing the one thing she’s asked him not to do today.

“Hey, hey. You promised.”  
“I know I did, but…” His voice cracks. Steve needs to break that promise. “Mama, please, can I cry?”  
“Oh, baby,” She cups his cheek. “Sure you can.”

Steve wraps his arms around her and just lets it out. Tears that he’s held in since this morning, last night maybe, for months even. Sarah holds him close, runs her hands over his back, whispers words of comfort, words that aren’t true, but need to be said anyway.

“Mama, I don’t want you to leave me.” Steve whimpers.  
She keeps her hold on him as tight as she’s able. “I only have one reason to stay. It’s the only reason I need. I would, baby, for you.”  
“I love you so much.”  
“I love you.” She murmurs into his hat and then gently lifts it off his head. He stares at her, eyes begging for it back. Sarah holds it away from him. “You’re the strongest person in the world, Steve. _You_. My son; strongest person in the world.”  
“No.” He whispers and then points to her, fingertip just touching her chest. “Second strongest.”  
She smiles. “I’ll take that.” Sarah hands him a tissue, puts the hat back on for him. “Now, where are we going this year?”

This is what they do on Thanksgiving. No turkey dinner or football games. A train ride to somewhere different each year. Find an open place. Have some tea and pie. Talk, laugh, just be with each other. One more year, one more Thanksgiving, one more train. Steve can give her that. One last time. Maybe if they board the right train, they can just go on forever. 

He sucks in a deep breath and looks at the board again, this time able to see the destinations clearly. 

“Let’s see.” He says to himself. “Where haven’t we been yet?”

A minute or two tick by, Sarah has wrapped their arms together, and someone lightly jabs Steve in the arm. 

“Hey, punk!” Steve hears before he has the chance to even register that someone’s tried to get his attention. 

Everything freezes. People around him disappear, noises vanish--all except the hot pulse pounding in his ears. Steve is utterly unprepared for this, and when he looks up to meet Bucky’s smiling face, his stomach turns, flips, then falls to his feet. He snaps his gaze to Sarah. She’s smiling, too, a know-it-all type of smile. For weeks now she’s been bugging him to tell him about them. Who are they? Why won’t you bring them over? She plays the pronoun game with him. Knows Steve has no preference for gender. _I know you’ve met someone_ , she’s teased. _You’re smiling like a chesire cat._

“Uh, hey.” Steve mumbles. “Hi. What, uh. what’re you doing here?”  
He holds up an egg McMuffin. “Thanksgiving breakfast. Was gonna be playing piano for Tasha down at the studio. She’s got a show tonight, but she canceled when I got in.”

Bucky’s still smiling as his eyes drift from Steve up to his Ma as he waits for the obvious to happen. Even Sarah’s waiting for it. She squeezes Steve’s arm, too. Only Steve just stands there in silence, the words stuck in this throat, pit in his stomach. He feels sick, even worse when the smile fades from Bucky’s face. 

“Steven,” Sarah says, gaze moving from Bucky down to Steve. “Aren’t you doing to introduce us?”  
“N… uh, I mean, yeah…” Steve rattles his head. “Ma, this is… this is my friend… James…”

Steve doesn’t know why that comes out, why he says it that way. He _does_ know, immediately, right away, that Bucky’s hurt, that he’s angry. Bucky shifts his weight, purses his lips for a moment before trying to offer another smile, not for Steve, but for Sarah’s sake. 

“It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Rogers.” He says politely, holding his hand out.  
Sarah takes it and gives her best handshake. “Please, call me Sarah.”  
He nods. “Sarah. Well, I just saw you from McDonalds. Thought I’d come over to say hello.” Bucky’s angry eyes drift towards Steve, “Didn’t mean to… _disturb_ you. Have a nice Thanksgiving. Sarah, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Bucky turns then, storms away, playing dodge the people as he does. He’s pissed, rightfully so. Steve’s fucked up. Fucked up big time. 

“Shit.” He mutters. “Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”  
“You just hurt that young man, didn’t you?” Sarah asks, the hint of scolding in the back of her voice.  
“I… Mama, what’do I do?”  
“You go after him and fix this.”  
“What about…”  
“I’ll go sit in there.” She points to the Starbucks. “Order myself a coffee. Go. Hurry up. Do not come back until you fix it.”

She smacks his butt and Steve rushes off after Bucky. He’s not gotten far, all the extra people have seen to that. Steve can still just make him out as he heads towards the stairs. It’s hard for Steve to run; flat feet, asthma, irregular heartbeat, fucking body that just has to work against him, but he does his best. 

“Bucky!” He shouts. “Bucky, wait! Please!” 

Bucky might hear him, might not, Steve’s not sure. Either way, he doesn’t stop and he’s just reached the first step. If he gets up them, Steve’ll lose him. 

“S’cuse me, s’cuse me,” Steve mumbles as he starts pushing his way through the crowd. 

Rather than take the stairs, he gets on the escalator, starts climbing up that, catches up to Bucky that way.

“Bucky!”

Bucky glances his way.

“Not now, Steve.” He mutters. “Not right fucking now.”  
“No please wait!” Steve’s turned around and is walking down on the up escalator so that Bucky doesn’t pass him, even though this is causing quite a problem for lots of other people. “Just give me a chance to explain!”  
“Steve, get the fuck off the escalator like that.”

Steve nods. He’ll do pretty much anything Bucky wants right now, and rides the thing all the way to the top, waits for Bucky up there. Bucky doesn’t wait for him though, just starts to go by him. 

“Aw, Bucky, _please_!”  
“There’s _nothing_ to explain, Steve!” He yells when he spins around. They’re still blocking human traffic. Neither care about the fucking glares and mumbled, or outright, curses thrown at their direction right now. “I get it. You’re embarrassed by me. I’ve been in the situation before. Nothing new to me. I’m all cool to be around in private, you’re dirty little secret. Everyone wants to go slumming sometime in their life. I can be a story you get to tell your kids. The tattooed, pierced, fucking metal-armed freak.”  
“No! Oh God, Bucky! No, that’s not it, Buck, I swear it’s not!”  
“Right, Steve…”  
“It’s my Ma, Bucky…” Steve gasps. “She’s sick!”

The cold, hard expression is still all over Bucky’s face, and Steve is still shaking, and neither have them have moved, so when someone tells them to get the fuck out of the way, they both turn to the person at the same time and shout, “Fuck you!”

They look back at each other at the same time, locking eyes and Steve feels like he’s going to pass out. His chest is tight. It hurts, painful fire spreading through his lungs, white hot and making it hard to breathe. Too hard. Asthma. He’s trying to reach into his pocket for his inhaler. There’s a hand on his arm, guiding him to the side and away from all the people. 

“Okay, okay,” Bucky’s soft voice soothes. He takes hold of Steve’s wrist and moves his hand away, reaches into Steve’s pocket and gets the inhaler himself. Hands it over. “Here. It’s okay, Steve.” 

Steve is trying to take his medicine, trying to get the fucking inhaler to his mouth but his goddamn hands won’t cooperate and are shaking like a motherfucker until Bucky places his own over them. They steady, and Steve breathes the medication in, holds his breath. The worst part. Torturous, like he’s never going to be able to breathe again. Hot tears fill his eyes until he finally lets it out, slowly, through pursed lips, lungs grateful for it’s release. 

Bucky touches his face, worry and fear all over him, anger gone. Breathing is still a little hard, but it’s better, and Steve wants to let Bucky know that he’s okay so he gives a weak nod. Relief rains down on Bucky, Steve can see it, but it doesn’t matter, he still feels like the shittiest person in the world.

So as soon as his lungs have enough power he says, “I’m so sorry, Bucky. I…”  
“No, Steve. It’s okay.” Bucky looks down and away, like he’s ashamed, worried he’s done something wrong. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t know. What… what’s going on? With your mom?”  
Steve’s throat feels dry. “She’s… got cancer. Stomach.”  
“Fuck.” That barely even comes out of Bucky’s mouth. “How much time?”  
“Not much. Weeks if I’m a downer. Months if I’m hopeful.”  
“Stevie, I… why didn’t you tell me?”

He’s not angry with Steve for it, that much Steve’s sure of. At first, Steve’s going to say that he doesn’t know. But that’s not true. He does know. 

“I just… I thought if I didn’t say anything, then, maybe I could… maybe she’d get better? I just… if you met her, I wanted you to meet her healthy. Not sick. Not this way. Not about to die.” Steve pulls his hat down. “I know. That’s so fucking stupid.”  
“No, it’s not stupid, Steve. It’s not stupid at all.”

Bucky doesn’t try to lift his hat like he usually does. 

“It’s not?”  
“No.”  
Steve lifts the hat himself. “You really don’t think it’s stupid?”  
“To hold onto something that gave you hope?” Bucky wipes his fingers just under the brim of his glasses for him. Until he does that, Steve doesn’t realize that there are tears there. “No. I could never think something like that is stupid.”  
Steve wipes the rest of the moisture away himself. “I’m so sorry, Bucky. I never meant to make you feel like… or that I…”  
“No, I know, Steve.” Bucky assures him. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I should have known better. You’re too good a guy to think that way.”

The way Bucky says that, the _fact_ that Bucky says that, it makes Steve feel warm. And he’s still so fucking upset and scared for his Ma and he doesn’t know when he did it, but Steve moved forward and into Bucky’s arms. He sighs. 

“Come back with me?” Steve requests. “So I can introduce you right?”  
“You sure?” Bucky runs fingers across the side of his neck. “Don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”  
“I do want to. I want you to meet her.”  
“Kay. Lead the way, Stevie.”

They head back into Penn, Bucky wrapping his arms around Steve and pecking the top of his head as he does. Sarah is waiting just where she said she’d be and nods approvingly when she sees them coming back. 

“Gonna do this better?” She asks Steve and Steve nods.  
“Yes, Ma. Ma, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is my Ma.”  
“Oh, Bucky is it?” Sarah replies in an almost teasing way. She turns to Bucky. “Well, Bucky, I’m so sorry my son was so rude before.”  
“Eh, that’s okay.” He jostles Steve a bit. “I’m used to him being a little punk.”  
She tsks her tongue. “Has he been rude? You let me know and I’ll be sure to give him a such a spanking.”  
Steve scoffs. “Ma, you’ve never spanked me once.”  
“Hm. You’re right. Not sure if I could manage now.” Sarah looks Bucky up and down as though assessing him. “You look nice and strong. You can do it. You have my permission to give him a nice, hard spanking.”  
“Ma!”

Bucky bursts out laughing. She had winked at him, let her voice get heavy and laced it with suggestion. 

“Well, now I know where you get it from.” Bucky teases.  
“Uh-oh.” Sarah laughs. “Has my son been inappropriate?” She lifts her eyebrows up at Steve. “Acting in ways that are too embarrassing to act in front of me, hm?”

Steve groans and whines, hides his face in Bucky’s arm. He gets a pat on the head from Bucky. 

“Bucky, would you like to come with us for our Thanksgiving ride?” 

Sarah’s invite makes Steve’s insides swell with excitement. He hopes Bucky says yes, even though this has been a tradition just between mother and son since it started. Having Bucky there will keep Steve grounded, anchored to this moment. Today is a good day for his Ma. She’s feeling strong and if there was ever a time for Bucky to be able to spend some time with her, it’s now. 

“Oh, I…” Damn. Maybe it’s too much. After yesterday, perhaps today feels like a little too much commitment. “I don’t want to impose.”

Is that the truth? Or is he just making it up to be polite? Steve looks up at him. There’s a blush on his face and his lips are tucked in so Steve’s not sure what’s going on in that head of his. When Bucky catches his eyes, Steve gives him a shrug. It’s on him, though what he really wants to tell him is please come. 

“You won’t mind?” Bucky asks quietly, gazing at his feet. “I… never have anything to do on Thanksgiving.”

So it was the truth. He really just didn’t want to impose.

Steve grabs hold of his hand and points up at the board. He and Sarah explain their tradition, even let Bucky pick the spot to go this year. 

They end up taking a train to Long Island again, only this time it’s almost two hours away, to a town they can’t pronounce the name of. They find an open diner and spend three hours ordering slices of the different pies. 

Since it’s a good day for Ma, Steve isn’t surprised that Sarah has Bucky in fucking stitches, many time at his expense, but he doesn’t care, not one bit. He’s unusually quiet, even though neither Bucky nor his Ma seem to notice. Steve enjoys watching them, is so fucking happy that this got to happen. Can’t stop smiling even when he’s wiping fucking tears from his eyes when they’re getting back on the train to head back home.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Ma.” 

Steve hugs her, wants to hugs her tighter, but is too afraid he’ll hurt her if he does. They’re back at his old home, where she refuses to let him come back to, in her bedroom. He’s gotten her settled into bed, cup of tea on the nightstand. She looks worn out now, the day having caught up to her. Eyes tired, body moving slower, even shaking a little. 

“You, too.” She kisses his cheek. “I… Steve, baby… This one, I’m glad we got to do this one. Glad we got this day.”  
“Mhmm.” It’s all he can get out without crying again.  
“Okay. You go home.” She gives him a sly grin. “I sure like him, baby.”  
“He’s a good guy, Mama.” Steve agrees. “Get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning. I love you, Ma.”  
“Love you, too, angel.”

Steve blows her a kiss and closes the door behind him. She’s already half asleep by the time he does. After a few words with Darcie, he and Bucky share a cab back to his place. When it pulls up to the curb, Steve’s surprised by the small sound that comes out of Bucky, like he’s clearing his throat and trying to get his attention at the same time.

“Uh, Steve? Can I…” He’s fiddling with his fingers, pulling on the collar of his shirt like he’s nervous. Steve almost laughs. He hasn’t seen Bucky like this since they first met. “You mind if I come up? I get if you wanna be alone, but… Clint’s not home, he’s out with family and I…”

Steve cuts him off by grabbing hold of his shirt. He’s already paid for the cab ride and is now dragging Bucky out.

“C’mon, jerk.” Steve chuckles.

It’s a quiet evening. Really. They don’t even fool around. Cause making out with half their clothes still on totally doesn’t count. Even if Bucky insists that it does count because Steve got off. Steve maintains it shouldn’t since his pants stayed on the whole time. 

But Steve wakes up around three in the morning. Just wakes up. No reason other than to reposition himself. Bucky is still in bed with him (hogging, just like Clint warned him). He’s curled up next to him, arm behind his back, face smothered in Steve’s pillow, hair curtained over his cheek. Steve snickers, gently brushes some of that hair away, tucks it neatly behind Bucky’s ear. Knows from experience it won’t last. 

He watches Bucky sleep for a moment, a bit dazed himself. A strange feeling washing over him, something he doesn’t recognize. Steve’s fingers graze Bucky’s cheek and lightning strikes his belly, hot and burning. 

Steve’s not certain, but he just might be falling in love with this fucker.

And if that’s the case, if he’s really falling in love with Bucky Barnes, then things just got really complicated. A whole lot more fucking complicated.


	5. Chapter 5

“Know what?”

Bucky lifts his head from Steve’s chest. They’re laying in his bed, naked, cause they’re almost _always_ naked, or at least half naked when they’re together and Bucky convinced the kid to take an extended break from his five day work bender and come over early before Bucky’s show tonight. 

“What’s that?” Bucky asks.  
“I’m thinking about getting a tattoo.”  
“That right?”

He’s playing with Steve’s dick. It’s soft at the moment. That won’t last if he keeps it up. Steve came about thirty minutes ago, but Bucky’s learned that if he plays it right, treats him good and gentle for a while, he can get at least two or three orgasms out of him, sometimes even four, a night. And Steve will certainly start begging and pleading for them, no matter how bossy the little shit is with him beforehand. Still, no matter how hard and rough Steve wants, and loves and enjoys, being pounding into, destroyed and wrecked during sex, being affectionate and being cared for afterwards? Bucky figures that’s what he craves even more, even if Steve doesn’t realize it. 

“Yeah. What’d you think?”  
“I think…” Bucky brushes his thumb over the tight curls above Steve’s crotch, “Property of Bucky Barnes…”  
“Shut up, dick!” Steve bops him on the head. “I’m serious!”  
Bucky laughs. “Okay, okay. Doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your body. Your canvas. What’d you have in mind?”  
“Um. I was thinking… a clock. Hands at midnight.”  
“So everyone knows that’s when you turn back into a pumpkin?”  
“Jesus Christ.” Steve throws his head back.  
“Sorry.” He chuckles. “Go on.”  
“ _Anyway_. So, where your compass is? A clock. Don’t wanna waste my time. Don’t wanna let anyone else waste it on me either.”

Bucky looks at the spot Steve wants it. So different looking from the same spot on him. Steve is so skinny, scrawny really, no other way to describe him. Bucky can run his finger over all his ribs without pressing down. There’s just no muscle on him, not really anyway. He’s got strength, he’s not some weakling, but it’s because he’s able to take care of himself. His skin is ridiculously pale, even lighter than Becca’s, so his pink nipples stand out against it. Other than his head, under his arms, and his pubes, there’s barely a stitch of hair on him. It’s there, on his legs and arms, but it’s so light and thin one can hardly see it without an up close and personal look. 

“Bucky?”  
He looks up at Steve’s face and grins. “I can take you to my guy. Wade. He’s fucking good.”

Steve’s fingers trace around the three birds that are Bucky’s back shoulder. He can hear Bob Marley’s voice singing.

_Don’t worry. About a thing. Cause every little thing’s gonna be alright._

That’s something Steve actually does alot. His fingers are drawn to Bucky’s tattoos, always seeking them out, exploring the ink and colors there.

“You’d do that?” Steve asks.  
“Take you to Wade? Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”  
Steve shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe it’s, like, a personal thing.”  
“My tattoo artist? Steve, I’m not setting you up with my sister.”  
“Ugh.” Steve groans. “You’re such an ass.”

Bucky snickers. Still, for all his jesting, he can tell that this means something to Steve, something he’s probably been thinking about a lot. The idea of a clock, too, meaning, lots of meaning behind it for him.

Ever since meeting Sarah two weeks ago, Steve’s been a hell of a lot more open about her and their relationship. He talks about her all the time now, like he’s trying to give Bucky the chance to catch up on the woman he didn’t have the opportunity to meet. 

The woman Steve tells him about seems pretty fucking incredible, too. Single mom since Steve’s dad died when he was four, who took care of him through every cold, every virus, fever, operation, diagnosis, doctor’s visit, hospital stay. Steve’s even shown him some of his old home movies, and sure enough, tons of them take place in a hospital room--holidays, birthdays, random days. There’s little Steve, even smaller than he is now, hooked up to machines, IVs in his arm, wires hooked to his chest, breathing tubes in his nose. A birthday cupcake with one candle, Sarah filming and laughing, and the room filled with nurses, doctors and staff who clearly love this small, sickly kid. Despite the fact that there’s a tiny cupcake instead of a big cake, there’s hospital staff instead of friends and family, and being cooped up in a hospital room instead of some party room, Steve lights up every time. 

It might be the past, all over and done with, but Bucky hates seeing Steve like that. Like somehow he’s going to be that Steve again, frail and fragile and sometimes close to death. So Bucky can’t even imagine how terrified Steve must be right now, with his mom and all. 

“Draw something.” Bucky murmurs, serious now. “I’ll take you to Wade.”  
“I should draw it?”  
“Don’t you want to? I mean, he’ll do it, but… why wouldn’t you just do it?”  
“I mean… I dunno.” 

Bucky’s been gently stroking Steve this entire time, an idle, absentminded movement, even if sucking him off has been somewhere in the back of his mind cause he’s almost always thinking about putting his lips somewhere on this guy. When Steve says that though, he stops, puts both hands on either side of him. The second his hand his away, Steve whines. Bucky snickers. He hadn’t even been sure Steve was paying all that much attention to what he was doing. But Steve is now sulking and wiggling his hips like that will get Bucky to go back to doing what he was doing. Bucky flicks his side, earning a yipping noise from Steve.

“Hey.” Bucky murmurs. “You know you’re incredible, right?”  
Steve nods. “Fuck yeah. I know that.”  
“No.” He cups the side of Steve’s face. “I mean, your art. The way you draw, the way your create something out of nothing. You’re incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Do you know that?”

Steve studies his face for a moment, as though searching for some reason Bucky might be lying to him. He’s not though, not even exaggerating in the slightest. 

The art Steve creates, that which he’s let Bucky see, it amazes him. Steve won’t let him, not anyone, see what he’s preparing for his showcase for school, not even a glimpse. But Bucky’s seen plenty of other things that Steve’s done. Sketches, rough drafts, fully completed pieces like the poster over his couch and everything in between. The attention to detail Steve has, the little things that Bucky would never notice, shading, depth, coloring, it’s all fucking incredible. 

There’re tons of sketch books laying around Steve’s place, those not in the dubbed work area that have been deemed up for grab to anyone who wants to look. Bucky’s looked at them all. Always does, just in case there’s something new in one of them, since most of them aren’t actually filled up. Sometimes, Steve will sit on the couch, shoved into the corner, totally absorbed in whatever he’s drawing. One of Bucky’s favorite things to do now is watch him draw, only when Steve doesn’t catch him since Steve catching him usually results in him crumpling up a piece of paper and tossing it at Bucky’s face. When he’s not caught, Bucky can stare at him the entire time he’s working. This has resulted in such raging hard ons they’ve hurt. 

He draws Bucky sometimes, too. Sometimes when Bucky knows he’s being drawn, and sometimes when Steve thinks he doesn’t, and probably times Bucky really doesn’t know. Bucky’s seen sketches of his own tattoos on those pages, of the paintings on his metal arm. Those are something that Steve’s fingers hesitate by. They’ll skim over those, but never linger. Bucky always wonders what goes through his mind when he does that, but he’s never asked. 

“Bucky…” Steve breathes.

His eyes are swimming, maybe with tears, maybe with something else, Bucky’s not sure, but Steve cuts himself off and wraps his arms around his neck, pulls Bucky down and kisses him hard and long. 

“You really don’t see that, do you?” Bucky asks when his lips are free again. “How talented you are?”  
“I… y’know, I mean, I know I’m not bad and shit. But…”  
“No, Steve, you’re a lot more than just ‘not bad’.” Bucky sits up and brings Steve with him. “This is why I keep tellin’ ya’, you gotta get this teaching idea outta your head.”  
“Ah, Bucky, don’t start this again.”

They’ve been through it before. Over and over again. It’s never been started with Bucky’s undying compliments like this, but his insistence that Steve should at least make an _attempt_ to pursue his dreams of going into storyboarding--comics, animation, something along those lines--usually does end up in some bickering. 

“Just, please, _please_ , hear me out, Stevie,” Bucky requests. “You’re so much better than you give yourself credit for.” Steve has gotten off the bed and is slowly dressing. “And there’s nothing _wrong_ with teaching and if you wanted to teach art, if that’s what you really _wanted_ to do, I’d be cheering you on the whole time, but, fuck, Steve, it’s _not_ what you want to do.”  
“Bucky, we’ve been through this.”  
“I know that. And I just don’t buy it. Not for one second.”

Steve gives him one humorless chuckle as he puts his shoe on, leaning against the dresser for balance. 

“What don’t you buy?”  
“That you’re fine with teaching. I think you’re dreading it. That you want nothing to do with it.”

All of Steve changes when he says that. His face darkens and he glares over at him. Bucky hates when he looks at him like that. It’s not often that he does, but he still hates it. 

“I don’t wanna talk about this.”  
“Yeah, cause then you have to admit that you’re scared.” Bucky tells him, finding himself aggravated by Steve’s reaction to this. He can’t stand the idea of someone so talented selling himself short, of giving up on his hopes and dreams out of fear. “Steve, you can’t let fear stand in your way. You can do it. I’m telling you.”  
“Leave it alone, Bucky.”  
“No.” Bucky states, firm and adamant. “Not this time. I wanna talk about this.”  
“There’s nothing to talk about.”  
“There _is_ though. You’re fucking so terrified of failing that you won’t even _try_. You’ll give up, settle on easy just so you don’t have to face that. And I think that’s fucking bullshit.”

Steve pushes off of the dresser, thin arms crossed tightly against his chest. Lips set in a line, his nostrils flare and eye light up with flames.

“And what about you, you fucking hypocrite?” He hisses, voice low and steady.  
“What about me?”  
“You can honestly sit there and try to lecture _me_ about being not doing something about being scared when _you’re_ literally doing the same fucking thing and trying to fucking _hide_ it from everyone?”

A lump forms in Bucky’s throat. There’s only one thing that Steve can possibly be talking about, but he can’t possibly be talking about it. 

“I…” His voice sounds far away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
“Sure you fucking do.” Steve growls and then marches over to Bucky’s keyboard, snatching up the composition pages there. “What’s this, Bucky, hm? You composing? Maybe cause, you love being in a band and all, you’d love to make it big, but you’d really love to compose for Broadway?” Steve raises his eyebrows, lips pursed, and Bucky can’t bring himself to say a word. So Steve goes on. “You think I don’t know that you’re too afraid to try?”

Okay, Bucky will give Steve credit for figuring out the composing on his own. Yes, he does want to do that. Yes, Bucky’s afraid to do that. Afraid without the proper background, without the right musical education that all he’ll get is rejection after rejection. 

But now Bucky’s scared. Scared that Steve knows all this, and the only thing he can think to do is cover that up by being angry. 

Anger has him snarling, “Fuck you, Steve.”  
“Right.” Steve shakes his head. “But you’re not a hypocrite at all, huh?”

Steve heads to the bedroom door and panic rushes through Bucky. He’s never had Steve walk away from him before. Not in anger, not once. Stomach falling to the floor, Bucky feels all the blood draining from his body. 

“Steve!” He yells. “Okay, wait! Please!”

Steve stops and looks at him, confused, like he has no idea why Bucky’s shouting.

“Okay?”  
“Yeah, okay, I’m a hypocrite. I am.” He takes in a deep breath. “But… hear me out okay?” Bucky’s reeling. Steve can’t walk out on him, he just can’t. “Yes. You’re right about me. I do… want that. What you said, about… Broadway.” Oh God, it feels so strange to say that out loud to someone who isn’t Tasha. But Steve doesn’t judge him. At all. Steve just nods, still angry, but almost like he’s pleased that Bucky trusts him with this. “But, with you’re going to school and all, are you at least willing to admit that the circumstances are just a little…” Bucky sighs, “...different? Please?”

Steve licks his teeth once and sucks in a deep breath. Taking his hat off, he runs his fingers over his head and nods. 

“Yes, Bucky, I can give you that. But that still doesn’t…”  
“You’re right!” Bucky agrees right away, before Steve can even finish. “It still doesn’t give me any right to lecture you. It doesn’t. It’s just…” He gets off the bed, measures steps to where Steve is and holds his shoulders. “Steve, you’re so talented. And you have the chance. Please, Steve, I’m begging you. Don’t waste it. I’d hate so much to see you unhappy because you didn’t take the chance.” There are tears backing up on him and he doesn’t know where they’re coming from. “Look, Stevie, if you leave me now, just know that… I really do think you’re one of the most talented…”  
“Leave you?” Steve looks startled, as though Bucky’s just popped out on him or something. “Buck, I’m not leaving. I was just going into the kitchen.”  
“What?”  
“Hey…” He reaches out and runs his long fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Dude, we were just arguing. Are you okay?”  
“Oh.” Fuck. Holy shit. Not good. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Only Bucky’s not okay. He’s far from okay. Even as Steve goes on to tell him he thinks that Bucky should at least give Broadway a shot, that he has more talent in his left pinky toe than half the current shit out there, Bucky feels wrong. Steve tells Bucky he understand why he’s hesitant, but that he really thinks he should consider looking into composing, maybe even just getting a higher education in the area. Bucky still feels wrong. When Steve puts his arms around Bucky’s waist, admits that, yes, he’s scared of failing, doesn’t really want to teach, isn’t sure what to do about it, Bucky is all wrong.

Because this is the part Bucky starts to freak the fuck out. He’s fallen fast. Fallen hard. And now Bucky feels about as powerful as a blank sheet of paper in one of Steve’s sketchbooks. That’s what he’s let himself become to Steve. His. Blank and empty, just waiting for Steve to fill him, to do something with him. And if Steve feels like turning the page, he’ll turn it, and leave Bucky behind for another day. Worse, if he feels like ripping him out, crumpling him up and tossing him into the garbage, that’s it. There’ll be nothing Bucky can do about it. 

He can’t let that happen.

***

“What’s going on, James?”  
“Nothing.” Bucky answers, sucking on a end of a cigarette, flicking it away and then lighting another.

They’re standing outside the place they’re playing at tonight. Tasha’s followed him out there. Probably because he said he’d be right back and that was a good twenty minutes ago. Bucky’s been sucking down cigarettes the whole time.

“You know,” Tasha grunts. “I don’t normally lecture you on the whole cancer stick thing…”  
Bucky sighs, “Tasha…”  
“But the chain smoking thing is never a good sign,” She clicks her tongue. “Now how about you stop fucking lying to me and tell me what’s wrong?”

Leave it to Tasha to see right through him. Bucky doesn’t know why he ever bothers trying to hide shit from her anyway. He takes one last drag from his cigarette and flicks it away.

“I’ve just been thinking…”  
“Great. That clears it all the fuck up, doesn’t it?”  
He scratches his head. “About what’s going on with Steve and me.”  
“Oh, fuck me, Bucky!” She exclaims. “You’re gonna do the thing, aren’t you?” 

Tasha pushes away from the building they’re leaning against. The night is cold, cold enough that their breaths come out in bursts of white clouds, mixing with the air and city noises. Steam rises out of a sewer cap, cut off momentarily as a cab rolls over it. People are milling up and down the block, some pushing their way through trying to get by quicker. 

Bucky’s trying to focus on all that. There’s so much happening. Lights flickering, pizza cooking, beers pouring, but all he can feel is Tasha staring. 

“Tasha…”  
“Come _o-on_ , Bucky! You promised Clint! You promised you wouldn’t do this!”  
“It’s not that simple, Tasha!”

It was simple. Started simple and easy. Why can’t it ever just fucking stay that way?

“Sure it is!” She scolds. “I know you, Bucky! Lemme guess. You got into a fight, right?” His chest feels tight. She shakes her head with a roll of her eyes, an unamused smile. “And it turned out okay in the end. But then you realized that you were a lot deeper than you wanted to be, right? And now you think it’s best to jump ship before he gets the chance to first.”

Instead of answering, Bucky starts taking out another cigarette. His hands are trembling slightly. This is ridiculous. What difference does it make? They’re not serious anyway. It’s just sex. 

“Natasha, I…”  
“Christ, James, you are so fucking predictable.” She sighs and then comes over to him, places her cold hands on his neck. “Please don’t do this.” Her voice is settled, calm and warm. “Look, the two of you talked about this, right? That you’re both in it for the same thing? Not too serious? Friends with benefits type thing? Not completely no strings attached, but not a full commitment. Still just with each other? And if something changes, you’ll talk it over? No matter what? Right?”  
“It’s not…”  
“ _Right_?”  
 _Fuck_. Bucky huffs, “Right.”  
“Okay. Has something changed? Did Steve change?” Bucky shakes his head. “So you just suddenly realized that you’re a little more vulnerable?”  
“I guess.”  
“Lemme let you in a on little secret, James. You _have_ been. From the fucking start. Just cause you’ve realized it now, doesn’t change a fucking thing.” She pulls him in close enough so that their foreheads touch. “Bucky, don’t do the thing. Don’t run out on him. Look,” Tasha kisses his cheek, “I’m gonna be here for you, no matter what you do. But that kid in there? He lights you up inside. I have no idea if you guys’ll be fuck buddies forever or if you’ll step that part back and be platonic best friends or maybe something more, but there’s no reason why that guy should ever _not_ be a part of your life. Don’t fuck that up just because you’re feeling a little vulnerable.” 

Bucky is staring down at the ground, at the cracks in the sidewalk. Made out of concrete. Strong and durable, yet still has all these fucking cracks in them, zigzags and jagged, running this way and that. Why doesn’t anyone ever just fucking fix them?

He lifts his eyes, looks right into Natasha’s. They’re like ice, silver and blue as they gaze into his. 

Bucky hates this part. Because Clint was right. He was absolutely fucking right in not wanting to tell him anything about Steve. He shouldn’t have. Bucky can’t do this. He should have never tried in the first place. He told Steve they’ll see where they’d go. This is it. No further. Why did Bucky think it’d ever get any more than this anyway? He's even been to a bunch of therapists for this shit. Bunch of quacks they were, telling him he needs to give relationships a chance, trust a chance. Like they can have any fucking clue what it's like. What do they know? He ditched each of them like a bad habit.

And yet… the thought of not having Steve? It fucking hurts so much, a physical pain inside and out. 

“Tasha,” He whispers. “I don’t know what to do.”

She nods and then steers him towards the big front window of the bar they’re at. All she needs to do is point once. Bucky knows what he’s looking for. 

Right by the stage, up at a table in front, are all their friends. Old and new. Looks like Steve is telling a story. Big ass smile on his face. Sam’s sitting next to him, jostling his shoulder. Maria and Sharon are both sharing an amused eye roll. Clint’s laughing, hard and heavy. In the middle of his sentence, Steve happens to glance in the direction of the window, catches a glimpse of Bucky out there. He stops talking, puts an even bigger grin on his face and blows an entirely over-exaggerated kiss at him. 

Bucky laughs. He can’t help himself. He laughs and waves back at him. 

“You see.” Tasha says. “Remember that kid in there? That kid you were so madly in love with? Love at first sight?”  
Bucky swallows that knives cutting his throat. “Yeah.”  
“Did he do something wrong?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“Do anything that makes you think he’s gonna walk out on you?”  
“Mm-mm.”  
“Then, did he profess his undying love for you? Ask you to marry him and give you some sort of ultimatum, like he’d leave and never come back if you said no?”  
Bucky actually chuckles. “No.”  
“So then what’s the fucking problem here?”  
“The problem?” Bucky groans, knows exactly what the problem is. “I’m… being an asshole?”

Tasha opens her mouth wide, mocking happy surprise, and glances around like she’s hoping there’s someone else to witness this. 

“Look at all the progress we’ve made!” She exclaims. “So, what shouldn’t you be?”  
Bucky gives her a sheepish grin. “An asshole.”  
“And what are you going to stop being?”  
He nods. “An asshole.”

She takes hold of his hand and starts towing him back into the bar. 

“Very good. Now, get a move on not being an asshole, cause we have a show to do.”

And just like that, Bucky feels okay. Because Tasha is totally fucking right. He’s being the asshole here, trying to change things without even discussing them with Steve when Steve’s done nothing wrong. Things are different with Steve than they’ve ever been with anyone else. Steve’s never tried to change him or fix him. He just wants Bucky to be Bucky. And Bucky… wants to be the best Bucky he can be. For Steve. 

Things are still easy. Simple. No one’s made anything complicated. No reason for Bucky to be the one to do that by fucking it all up. He can do this. No reason to freak out. None. He’s okay. Bucky takes in a deep breath. Really. He’s okay now. Freak out temporary. Over and done with.

“Let’s get a move on.” He calls out over the chatter of the bar as though he’s not the one that’s been holding them up. “We’re on in five.”  
Maria rolls her eyes. “Right. Like it’s my fault.”

Bucky laughs, feels freer, lighter than he has in a few hours, though these past few hours have felt like years. He’s about to go straight for the stage, but peeks at Steve. Steve’s not looking at him as he chats at the table. Not ignoring him either. Just being Steve. 

Before Bucky follows Tasha and Maria to the stage, he steps around the table and wraps his arms around Steve. He’s interrupted whatever he was saying, making him fumble over his sentence and stop altogether. 

 

“Hey there.” Steve chuckles, patting at the arms around him. “What’s up, sexy?”  
“Mmm…” Bucky rubs their cheeks together. “Nothing. Just thinking about you watching me up there.”  
“Really? Well maybe I won’t tonight.” He threatens. “Maybe I’ll be too wrapped up in my enthralling conversation about The Red Wedding.”

Bucky has no idea what Steve’s talking about, but he chuckles anyway. He knows Steve’ll be watching.

“Yeah, well…” He kisses Steve’s cheek. “If you don’t watch I’ll never sing for you again, punk.”

Steve gasps, high pitched and scandalized. He even throws his hand over his heart for added effect.

“You wouldn’t dare!”  
“I…” Fuck, he can’t even tease Steve with that threat when he’s giving him that look. “Aw shit. Okay no.” He can tell Steve is about to do his usually victory dance, “But!” He lowers his voice so that only Steve can hear. “I _will_ tell everyone what I do for you when you can’t sleep.”

Sings him to sleep. That’s what Bucky does for him when Steve is having a restless night, can’t get his thoughts organized or is just being plagued by one too many. Bucky sings him lullabies. 

Pink touches Steve’s cheeks and, fuck yes, it’s rare but Bucky loves it when he makes him blush. 

“Okay, okay.” Steve gives in with a bashful smirk. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll watch you. I promise.”  
“Aw, you’re so good to me.”  
“Uh, hey, Bucky!” Tasha calls him from the stage. “You wanna join us some time tonight?”  
“Coming!”

Bucky skips up to the stage and welcomes the cheers and applause when he introduces the band. He smiles and waves, blows kisses to the regulars who show up to their gigs and promote the band, leave comments on their webpage. 

There are only two eyes he’s really interested in finding in the dim bar. Big and blue, shining bright in the darkness, watching him as they start playing, as promised.

_Baking rocks in the hot sun_  
 _I fought the law and_  
 _the law won_

Bucky performs, loves it, owns the fucking stage and maybe even the audience while he’s up there.

_I miss my baby and I feel so sad_  
 _I guess my race is run_

Right now, his body moves about only a little, sways around as his fingers strum the strings of his favorite guitar, his mouth damn near fucking the microphone. 

_She’s the best girl that I ever had_  
 _I fought the law and the_  
 _law won_

People love it. They scream and clap for it. But his eyes, they’re making love to those baby blues across the room. Unmoving, watching, still promised.

_Robbin’ people with a six-gun_  
 _I fought the law and the_  
 _law won_

He can’t believe what he was going to do tonight. Bucky was going to do exactly what he promised Clint--who made it fucking clear that their friendship was on the line if he did--he wouldn’t do. 

_I miss my baby and I miss my fun_  
 _I fought the law and the_  
 _law won_

This is his epic fucking love story--minus the romance and the cheesy love. They’re above it. Don’t want it. It just makes things messy, complicated. 

Things with Steve are just the way they need to be and he was about to turn his epic love story into something fucking tragic. A boo-hoo, woe is me, pity fest. He’ll have to thank Tasha for being his knight in shining armor later, for keeping him from making a Romeo type error. Preemptive lethal mistake. 

Second song. Fans are just starting to get pumped. Sweat sticks to the inside of Bucky’s leather jacket, glistens off his chest in the lights shining at him. He wonders if it turns Steve on. There is a pretty intense instrumental break right after the first verse. After basically standing still during all those in their first song, Bucky’s going to need to break away from Steve’s eyes and get busy up there. It’s almost painful, but he does it. Hops around as he plays like he loves, like Nat loves, like Maria loves, like the audience loves… 

_99 red balloons_  
 _Floating in the summer sky_  
 _Panic lads, it’s red alert_  
 _There’s something here from somewhere else_

…Steve loves it. He’s grinning like a mad man when Bucky gets back to the mic. Because the fucking second he’s back, his eyes go right for those baby blues again. And sure enough, promise kept. 

It’s by the fifth song that the guilt shows up. 

Everything with Steve is fucking perfect. Just what they both want. Fun. Simple. Easy. Uncomplicated. 

And Bucky was about to fuck all that up tonight. Tonight. No wait and see. He was going to fuck it up with that adorable little fucker, who’s watching him tear shit up on stage not because he thought Bucky’s threat was actually serious, but because he fucking wants to, tonight. 

Guilt fucking sucks.

_________________

So what happens when Bucky Barnes is feeling incredibly guilty over thinking about ending things with his adorably punk ass fuck buddy just because of his own emotional bullshit? He becomes a big pile of mush and cuddles and hugs and wants to dote on said adorably punk ass fuck buddy as much as possible. If there was some way to get down on his knees and beg for Steve’s forgiveness without letting him know what had gone through his mind that night? Bucky’d probably do it. But that might complicate things, and Bucky is so fucking not about complicated things. He’s had enough of that shit in his life. 

For the past few days, ever since that night, Bucky’s been curling up with his head in Steve’s lap, letting him pet his hand through his hair, wishing like fucking crazy the words “it’s okay, Bucky” would come out of his mouth. There have been similar words, more along the lines of “Are you okay, Bucky?” have been said, but Bucky’s been unable to answer that with complete honesty. He’s just smiled, said yes and snuggled closer.

Bucky’s given Steve massages and kisses and more massages and extra long blowjobs and surprised him with lunch after his afternoon class and tickles and more massages.

“Holy _fucking_ shit,” Steve moans as Bucky’s fingers knead into his lower back for maybe the fiftieth time in three days. “ _How_ have I known you for almost three months and _not_ known that you could do this?”  
Bucky snickers. “I only save it for my favorite friends with benefits.”  
“Mmm…” Is the first the response he gets out when Bucky’s thumbs run right over the top of his ass. “You better not be fucking around with anyone else, gender irrelevant, without letting me know. Tests required if that’s gonna happen.”

Leaning forward, Bucky kisses the spot between his shoulder blades, massage oils on his skin and all. 

“I know.” He whispers. 

They’re under Steve’s Christmas tree--on the couch cushions--which he insisted be put up the first of December. Everyone was over to help do it decorate it, too, which included his mom. There were cookies and eggnog. It was a good day. 

“Okay, seriously,” Steve grumbles, turning over and making Bucky pause his massage. “What the fuck is going on with you?”  
“Nothing. What’d you mean?”  
“The past, like, three days you’ve been all wishy-washy and mushy.” He pretends to yak and then chuckles. “I’m used to you being all cheesy and shit,” Steve nudges him with his toes, “But this takes the cake. Is everything okay?”

Fucking hell, why does this kid have to notice things so well? Bucky twirls a lock of hair around his finger and shrugs once.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

Steve sits all the way up now and leans into Bucky’s side. 

“Na-ah. Stop fucking around. Is it this time of year or something? Cause if it is, and you want me to shut up about it, just fucking tell me and you can go back to spoiling me rotten. I’m fucking cool with that.” Then he takes hold of Bucky’s chin, since Bucky wasn’t looking at him, but laughed at the end of his comment, and kisses him lightly. “But if it’s something else, dude, you can tell me. You know that, right?”  
Bucky’s chest hurts. “Yeah? Anything?”  
“Sure.” Steve repositions himself so that he’s seated cross-legged and in front of Bucky. “You okay? Do… uh… _we_ need to talk about things?”  
“It’s just.” Fuck. _Fuck_ , what is he doing? “We’re still cool right? Nothing’s changed? Still on the same page?”  
“S’far as I know?” Steve questions. “Yeah. I’m still good with how everything is. Unless…” He rattles his head, looks really nervous all of a sudden, like maybe he’s said the wrong thing. “Did you want… shit, did you want to change things? Fuck, Bucky, if you…”  
“No!” Bucky answers quickly. “I just… you weren’t…” His voice drops, “planning on ditching me or anything right? Or trying to make this serious by threatening to ditch me or something?”

Steve just stares at him for a moment, long lashes blinking over blue eyes. After a long minute of silent, Bucky feels stupid. That is, until Steve’s eyes are full of tears. He looks angry, though, no anger is directed at him. Steve gets onto his knees, lifts himself up and presses a kiss into Bucky’s cheek. 

“I’d never do that to you, Bucky.” He states. “Okay? Never.”

There’s nothing but absolute seriousness about Steve right now. No teasing or playing. The only thing he holds more dear to him are matters concerning Sarah. He’s more serious about this than about his art. 

Bucky grins and nods. That right there? Just what he needed. Heard it straight from the source. 

“Okay. Thanks, Steve. I’m sorry. I just… I dunno. Got weird. For a minute.”  
“Yeah, well, you’re a fucking weirdo.” Right back to Steve again, just like Bucky can count on. “So, how bout it? You gonna finish rubbing my back? Or hey! How about you? Can I give it a try?”  
Bucky laughs. “You wanna rub my back?”  
“Fuck, any excuse to touch your body is good enough for me. In fact, yeah, let’s go. It’s your turn.”

Not about to argue with getting a massage, Bucky sheds his shirt and goes to lay down where Steve had been.

“Nope. Wrong.” Steve stops him.  
“What?” Bucky asks, looking around for something out of place.  
Steve wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m giving you a full body massage. Lose it all.”

Bucky whimpers. He knows that look in Steve’s eyes, knows that he’s got something up his sleeve. Also knows that it’s something he won’t be able to resist, cause he just can’t fucking resist this little shit. So off come his pants, followed by his boxers, both ending up somewhere on the other side of the place since Steve tosses them over his head. Steve twirls his finger around, telling Bucky to get into position. 

“Your arm?” Steve questions, voice cautious and serious. “Should I…?”  
“It’s okay,” He assures him. “It’s just scar tissue. Doesn’t hurt. I get massages twice a month, to help with muscle function. You’re good.”  
“Okay.” 

Once he knows he’s in the clear, any nerves Steve may have must vanish completely, because instead of sitting to the side or kneeling over Bucky, he literally plops down right on Bucky’s ass. It _would_ make Bucky laugh, almost does, except that Steve is no longer wearing any pants either, and Bucky can feel his soft dick nestled comfortably right up against the delicate part of his ass. He holds in a gasp, and hears Steve snicker. 

It doesn’t take long for Bucky to get hard, not with that little fucker up there moving his hips back and forth as he runs his hands sensually across his back. His shoulders and back feel great, they really do, Steve’s fucking awesome at rubbing his muscles out. But he’s also letting his hips move like that on fucking purpose, his dick semi-hard now, and Bucky’s erection is pressing into the cushions. 

As Steve works his way down his back, slowly, very fucking slowly, Bucky is trying his damndest not to pant. And squirm. Dear _fucking_ God is he trying not to squirm. By the time Steve finally gets to his lower back, he finally has to move himself down a bit, shimmies himself down to the back of Bucky’s thighs. But instead of lifted weight providing relief to his swollen cock that’s beginning to beg for some proper friction, Steve leans in and nips Bucky’s ass with his teeth. It’s not hard, can’t even be considered a bite. But it is enough to get Bucky to react, to slam his hips down into cushions, his dick rubbing up against them just right--just like Steve wanted… just like his dick wanted. Because now that he’s done it once, one fucking thrust… he wants to, fucking _damn it, needs_ to do it again. 

Bucky whimpers and does it. Pushes his crotch into the cushion. Maybe just once more. _Oh hell_ it feels too good to stop. He torments himself just a bit more, just until he hears that evil, little chuckle. 

“Didn’t realize you were so hard for my couch cushions, dude.”  
Bucky whines, smothers his face in the pillow. “ _Steve_ … fuck. You’re _killing_ me…”  
“Me?” He chuckles. “What’d I do? I just thought it’d be nice to give my friend a massage. You’re the one making it all perverted.”  
He grunts. “You’re such an ass.”  
“Okay. I can stop then.”  
“No!” Bucky whines. “Please?”

Steve gives him that taunting little snicker of his and those long, thin fingers work their way over Bucky’s ass, pressing smooth circles into his muscles. Until those artist’s hands of his start parting his cheeks. A breath catches in Bucky’s throat. Steve’s hands are still very much slicked up in oil, though he only presses a little.

“Bucky?”

Steve’s voice is small, slightly nervous. He wants his attention, all of it, so Bucky looks over his shoulder, chin resting on it. 

“Is this… okay?”  
Bucky nods. “Mhmm.”

Steve’s still holding his gaze, hot and intense, when his thumb presses up against his hole. But instead of pushing in at all, Steve slides up along him, kisses the side of his neck and then nibbles on his earlobe. Eyes closed, Bucky sighs, pleasant breaths rising out of his throat.

Steve whispers in his ear, “I’d like to fuck you, Bucky. Can I?”  
“Mmm…” He opens his eyes with a smile. “Yes.”

Without another word, Steve plants a hard kiss on his mouth and makes his way back down to his ass. There’s not all that much warning before that tongue of his is eating him out, licking just around the area in a way the makes Bucky whimper pleads of mercy, _please, Steve, please_ , until he finally dives in and lets his tongue sink deep inside of him. 

The noise Bucky makes when he first does this, well, he’s not sure what it is, but he makes a noise and smothers his face in the cushions, pulling at his hair as Steve makes him a sloppy mess. Hips thrusting, Bucky can feel the fabric beneath him moistening with precome. It’s not until Steve pulls away and Bucky’s moaning abruptly stops that he realizes just how loud he’s being and how hard he’s panting. 

Behind him, Bucky hears the pop of a cap opening. He’s dazed and pretty far gone, but does manage to peek over his shoulder to see Steve with a bottle of lube, squeezing a bit onto his hand to mix with the oils already there. 

“Where…” His voice his barely audible, and Bucky can’t really make it louder. “Where’d you get that?”

So far as he knows, Steve hasn’t left. Unless he’s gotten Bucky in such a deep state of bliss he managed to slip away for a moment without him realizing. Bucky hardly thinks that’s the case though. He’s pretty sure he’d know if Steve wasn’t near him. 

Steve grins. “Had it under the tree.”  
“Did you plan this?”  
“Not this way.” He chuckles. “Just sex under the tree.” Fingers lubed, Steve eyes him and licks his lips, “Now be quiet. Enjoy yourself.”

Bucky puts his head back down when Steve’s hand moves to his ass again, one finger slowly pushing in. He hisses just a bit with it’s insertion, and Steve takes his time, works up gradually to another finger, waits until Bucky’s relaxed and moaning again. Which just shows how fucking well this guy knows him. 

Steve likes it hard, rough. Gets going quick and fast, and even though Bucky’s totally fucking on board to get down and dirty with him in most every other area, he’s never bottomed for him. Yet Steve knows enough to take his time, that Bucky needs this to be different. 

And he does, he opens him up slowly, yet somehow manages to torment him the entire fucking time. Steve is still Steve after all, and his other hand keeps seeking out his balls, fondles them, teases them and pulls moans from Bucky’s lungs. He can easily touch Bucky’s dick for him, wrap that beautifully long hand around it and give him the strokes it so desperately desires, so badly fucking needs, but he won’t, not even when Bucky asks. 

“Please, Stevie? Touch me? Please?”  
“Got my fingers inside your ass, Buck.” He taunts. “I _am_ touching you.”  
Bucky whimpers. “You’re killing me, Steve. I’m dying here. Seriously. I can’t fucking _take_ it.”  
“No? Maybe I should…” He thrusts his hand in a little further, adding just a slight twist and pushing right up against Bucky’s prostate. “Stop?”

Bucky gasps, a raspy sort of sound catching in his throat. Fire ignites in his balls, white hot, spreads to his whole body. 

“Yeah?” Steve murmurs. “If I’m killing you, I guess that’s what I should do.”

His hand is sliding out, slowly, torturously so and if Bucky doesn’t do something, he might stop. Probably not. Ninety nine percent sure. But…

“No! Oh fuck, Stevie, please, don’t stop…” He whines. “I’m sorry.”  
Steve laughs. “Fuck, Bucky, you’re the best, you know that?”

Right, so maybe Bucky’s laying face down, practically under Steve Rogers’ Christmas tree, dick so hard it hurts, leaking like crazy into Steve’s cushions, his ass filled with three of Steve’s fingers, knuckle-deep, and it’s _that_ that makes him blush like crazy. His priorities are seriously fucked. 

But Steve must see that blush--really how could he not, there’s nothing to hide it--because he slides atop Bucky and softly presses kisses into the back of his neck. At the same time, he starts moving his hand again. 

Bucky makes that noise again. Embarrassing, squeaky, needy. Just for Steve. 

“Fuck… _fuuuuck_ , Steve…” he moans, pants, groans. “M’gonna come soon.”  
“Oh, don’t you fucking dare.” He chuckles, and carefully pulls his fingers out.

Bucky whines. Ass feels so empty, lost without Steve there. Not their usual roles, but one Bucky might not mind doing a little more often if Steve wants.

He’s not empty for long. Steve rolls on a condom and fills him up again. Bucky’s so open and so slicked up--between the lube and all of Steve’s spit--he nearly slips right in. There’s a bit of tension, just the right amount of friction, and _holy fuck_ Steve feels perfect inside of him. Steve’s cock isn’t the thickest, but, Christ, it’s long and it hits that sweet spot right away. He starts thrusting away, tells Bucky to pick his knees up a bit. When Bucky does, Steve swats the pillows out of the way, both of them, leaving Bucky with only option of putting his head down on the floor. He does so, happily when Steve’s right hand is suddenly tangled with his own and his other finally takes hold of his dick, starts stroking away, and _fucking God in heaven_ why haven’t they been doing this the whole time?

“Steve…” Bucky pants. “Oh shit, Stevie, fuck, that feels so good… please… don’t stop…” 

Steve is moaning and grunting behind him, pushing further and harder, gauging how to proceed by Bucky’s reactions to him. He’s much quieter when topping, maybe more invested in what he’s doing for Bucky to lose himself in his own noises. 

When Bucky feels his balls tighten, he can only hope that Steve doesn’t mind him coming now. He fucking knows there’s no way he can hold this one back. 

“Steve!” He shouts. “Fuck… M’gonna… gonna come… can’t… stop…”  
“Come, Bucky…” Steve outright growls. “Fucking come for me. Right now.”

It hits him hard and so fucking powerful that Bucky can’t even make a fucking sound. Lightning shoots through him, the most beautiful stars in front of his eyes. Knees trembling as hot, sticky semen covers the floor underneath him. Bucky wants so badly to sink to the floor, doesn’t care at all that he’ll be laying in his own come, but Steve’s not finished so he stays up for just a few more moments until he feels him tense and tighten, Steve’s left arm wrapping around his waist as he comes with one final thrust and the shout of his name, and collapses on top of him. 

With Steve finished, with them both finished, sweat covered and panting, Bucky falls onto his belly, letting Steve stay right where he is. 

“Well shit.” Steve mumbles, face buried between Bucky’s shoulder and neck. “Hope you liked that as much as I did.”  
Bucky chuckles. “I can definitely get used to that.”  
“Cool.” Steve slowly pulls out of him. “You’re okay, right?”

He turns his head over, resting them on his arms to look at Steve. He’s sitting up now, looking down at him, brushing a few tendrils of his brown hair away from his face so that Bucky can see, or so he can see Bucky. Both work. Bucky nods, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”  
Steve’s fingers trace circles over Bucky’s cheek. “Yeah, but, like, what you said before? Like, about… me ditching you and everything…” Bucky lifts his head up, but Steve goes on before he can say anything, “I just want you to know, I really wouldn’t do something like that. If there was ever something wrong? I’d let you know.”  
“Yeah. I know.” Bucky leans up on his elbows. Kisses Steve’s chest. “I’m sorry I said that.”  
“No, don’t be, dude. It’s cool. I mean, fuck, no that’s not what I mean. Not that it’s cool to think… fuck, just forget it.”

Bucky laughs and pulls him into his arms, tickles him a bit and Steve squirms and he giggles.

“You’re such a fucking loser.” Bucky says.  
“Yeah, well, you’re the one who always wants to fuck this loser.”  
“Scuse me, I believe _you_ just fucked me.”  
“Dude, I don’t think that makes the situation any better for you.”  
“Shit.”

Steve giggles again, settles his head on Bucky’s chest and stares up at the ceiling. After a few moments he grunts and shifts about before yanking the condom off, tossing it away, sort of in the general direction of his garbage.

“Ew.” Bucky huffs. “Steve, you’re gross.”  
“I’ll clean it up later.” He says, like throwing a used condom across the room is no big deal, then adds, “Hey, Bucky. It’s fucking cold on my floor.”  
He chuckles. “Yeah, it is.”  
“So what the fuck are we still doing here?”  
“I dunno.”  
“Did you know that there’s a nice, warm bed over there?”  
Bucky looks to Steve’s bed. “Oh yeah?”  
“Uh-huh. Think we should go there?”  
“Sounds like a plan.”  
“I come up with the best of them.”  
“Sure do, buddy.”

Steve hops to his feet quicker than Bucky can and hustles over to his bed, climbing under the covers at the foot of it first until his head pops out at the top. Laughing, Bucky comes over and joins him when Steve pats the empty spot next to him. When he’s there, Steve starts running his fingers over the compass on Bucky’s chest. That always feels nice, the touch of his fingers there. 

“Shit.” Steve sighs and then groans. “I have so much work to do. This week is gonna be so fucking busy. Not gonna be able to see you much. But after Friday…”

He cuts himself off and stares straight ahead, then looks at his work area, then up to Bucky. Bucky looks down at him, tilts his head. Panic invades his face, takes Steve so hard it’s like a living thing grabbing at him from all sides. 

“Holy shit.” He mutters, then more vigorously, “Holy _fucking_ shit!”

He sits up in the bed and falls forward. Gets up, crawls to the middle of it and falls again. It’s like Steve doesn’t know what to do. 

“What?” Bucky wonders. “What’s the matter?”  
“Friday! A fucking week from today!”  
“Your showcase?”  
“Yes!” He bursts. “My fucking showcase is a week from today! Holy shit! Fuck! Bucky! What the fuck am I gonna do?”

Bucky laughs. He doesn’t mean to, but he also knows that Steve is overreacting. Still not a good enough reason to laugh at the poor kid, so the glare he gets it’s totally reasonable. But Bucky knows how hard Steve’s been working all semester to get ready for this thing, has helped him bring in some of the work for it--covered, cause he won’t let _anyone_ see until the day of--knows how fucking talented he is, and knows that he’s just stressing out now.

“You’re gonna calm down,” He tells him. “Spend the rest of the weekend with me.” Bucky rattles his head. Rethinks that. “Or, y’know, if you don’t wanna be with me, with your friends. I mean, just fucking hanging out. Relaxing.”  
“Relaxing?!” He squeaks. “How can I relax? I have so much work to do!”  
“Steve, chill the fuck out.” He chuckles.  
“Stop laughing at me!” Steve’s voice gets so high, Bucky’s sure a glass breaks somewhere.  
“Oh my God… How… Bucky, why did this happen so fast?”  
“Time? Went on as usual?”  
“Christ, Bucky, you’re not helping!”

Bucky’s trying like fucking hell not to burst out laughing. But Steve looks pretty damn hilarious right now. He’s still sitting right in the middle of the bed, head moving back and forth, chewing on the tips of his fingers, and when his fingers aren’t in his mouth, they reach up to his head like they expect his hat to be there. It’s not there though, so they grab nothing but air, nothing to pull down over his eyes and save him from looking out into the scary world he no longer cares to see. 

“Stevie, buddy, kid, you gotta calm down.” Bucky soothes. “You’re gonna give yourself an asthma attack.”  
“I can’t calm down!” He slams his hands down on the bed. He’s not angry though. He’s totally panicked. Doesn’t know what to do. The fact that his showcase is exactly one week away has completely blindsided him. “Bucky! I’m totally fucked!”  
“No. _I’m_ fucked. Remember?”

Steve fights back a laugh, does a good job, but it _is_ there, just below the surface. “Not helping!”

It is helping that. Cause that little remark did break through the sheer panic just a bit, just enough to make Steve crack the briefest of smiles. 

“Steve, seriously, you’re gonna give yourself an asthma attack. Calm down.”  
“How the fuck do you expect…”

Bucky shuts him up by placing his left index finger quite literally into Steve’s mouth. Does the trick more than perfectly. Bucky can tell Steve realizes, at least a little, that he’s freaking out, going a little overboard, since he leaves the finger in his mouth and pouts around it. 

“Are you done?” Bucky asks. Finger stays there. So does the pout. Steve shakes his head. Bucky grins, says, “Okay then. Just listen for now. You’ve been working all semester on this, right?” Steve nods. “How many pieces do you need?” Steve holds out all ten fingers, then five. “Fifteen. And how many have you finished?” Steve’s eyes go up as he thinks about it. He’s now sucking on Bucky’s finger, too, like it comforts him. He holds up ten. “So that means you only have five to go?” He shakes his head and wobbles his hand back and forth. Bucky chuckles. “You’re in the middle of doing some?” He nods. “Alright then. Is this freak out really necessary?” That bottom lip of his pushes out even further and Steve doesn’t quite agree, but he doesn’t disagree either. “That’s what I thought. Can I have my finger back now?” 

Steve shakes his head quickly, doesn’t let Bucky take his finger out of his mouth. While letting Steve suck on it more, Bucky brushes his thumb along his jawline and Steve leans into the touch. After a few more minutes, Bucky pulls back and Steve whines when his finger slips free.

“Feel better?” Bucky asks.  
“No.” He sulks. “Yeah.” Steve throws himself down on the bed, head hanging off the side. “Why did I have to major in art?”  
“Cause you love it.”  
“But it’s so _haaard_!”  
“Yup. But most things that are hard in life are those worth doing. Besides, can you imagine how it would be for someone with a metal arm to learn how to play the guitar? What a fucking nightmare, huh?”

Steve is silent for a moment. He then lifts his head and gives Bucky that pouty look.

“Okay. You got me there.” He says. “You’re awesome.”  
Bucky smiles. “You’re awesome. And you’re gonna be fine. Take the rest of the weekend. Relax. You got no classes this week just for the showcase, right?”  
“Yeah.” He drops back down again, lets his head dangle off the bed.  
“Okay then. You’ll have all week to finish up your work.” Bucky shifts so that he’s hovered over him. “And you’ll do great.” He presses his lips to Steve’s exposed throat. “Cause you’re great.”

Before giving Steve the change to reply, Bucky starts sucking on his neck. Steve sucks in a deep breath, lets it out with a jagged moan when Bucky’s hand slips around his soft dick. Bucky already knows where this is headed, knows that if he keeps going Steve’s gonna be ready to go again any minute. When he looks at the red mark he’s making on Steve’s neck, planning on making it darker, and runs his tongue along it, Steve whimpers.

“B-Bucky… I wasn’t…” He moans, unable to get out what he wants without making the noise first, “so, so mean before, right? I...” Steve whimpers again, “I didn’t… tease you too bad…”  
Bucky snickers, “Worried are ya, Stevie?”

Steve whines through another moan. Bucky’ll let him sweat it out a bit, but he’ll treat him right, make it last long, let him forget his stress just for a little while.

***

It’s early. Just after dawn early. Last day Bucky’ll see Steve before his showcase. Steve’s still fast asleep, drooling into his pillow, and normally Bucky would be right there with him, but he’s been texting for the past twenty minutes. He’s got a little something in store for today.

Going back to Steve’s bed, Bucky pokes him in the side. That only gets him rolls over onto his stomach. Bucky laughs. 

“Steve…” He murmurs right into his ear. earning himself a groan from the sleeping guy. “Come on, Steve.” He pokes him again. “Get up.”

Steve moans, but he’s waking up, pulls the pillow over his head and mumbles, “Go away.”  
“Can’t.” Bucky tells him. “We got something to do.”  
“Mmmm.” He grunts. “Sun’s not even up.”  
“Sure it is. Barely, but it is.”  
Steve peeks out from under the pillow. “Please go away. I wanna _sleeeep_.”

Bucky pretends to sigh, rises back to his feet. He starts to walk away.

“Okay. Well, I’m just gonna go run a nice hot bath. Go sit in the tub. Naked. Wet. All by myself.”

He looks over his shoulder when a pillow hits him in the back. Steve’s eyes are still closed, but he starts flinging his limbs around on the mattress, mini-tantrum in progress. 

“I hate you!” He grunts.  
Bucky snickers. “Your choice.”

In the bathroom, Bucky’s filling up the tub when he hears Steve’s bare feet flapping on the concrete floor. Turning around, Bucky nearly laughs at what he sees. S’not the first time he’s seen Steve in the morning, but right now his hair’s all over the place, his eyes are still half closed--Steve is rubbing the bottom of his palm into his right eye--clothes are pretty much falling off, and he’s smacking his lips together. 

“Come here, Stevie,” Bucky coos. “Let’s get you washed up.”  
“Why?” He yawns. “What’s going on?”  
“You’ll see.”

Steve twists his lips, but gives in. It’s too early in the morning for him to start arguing anyway, and he strips down, so does Bucky, and they slide into the tub together. 

Bucky leans up against the back of the tub, has Steve lean against him. He runs a wash cloth over Steve, paying extra attention to his chest. It’s comfortable, relaxing, and in a few minute, Steve starts waking up a lot more. 

“What’s going on, Bucky?”  
“It’s a surprise.”  
“Mm. A good one?”  
“I hope so.”

An hour later, Bucky’s towing Steve down a block in Greenwich Village. It’s fucking freezing, too, looks like it might snow, and Steve, now that he’s fully awake, has been complaining the whole time. 

“ _Bucky_!” He whines. “What the hell?! It’s fucking _cold_! I wanna be in my warm _bed_!”  
Bucky’s too excited to bicker with him. “Come on, come on!” He hops up and down once. “Hurry up!”  
“Ugh…” Steve shakes his head, but fights back a laugh. “Can you at least _tell_ me where we’re going?”  
“ _No_! That’ll ruin it! We’re almost there. I promise.”  
Steve throws his head back. “Fuuuuck. Carry me, baby? Pleeease?” Laughing, Bucky pauses and helps him up onto his back. “Fuck _yes_.”

Bucky keep him on his back for five more blocks, till he gets them there. It’s a place called Sparrow’s, and it’s closed at the moment, a big, black curtain pulled over the front window. Steve slides off his back and stares at the place.

“Where are we?”  
“You’ll see.” Bucky says and knocks on the red door.

It opens just a moment later, a man about a decade older than Bucky standing there. He smiles, wide, full teeth showing and pulls the door open all the way. There’s a birthmark on the right half of his face, a dark, pink mark that runs down to his neck, Bucky’s learned is called Port-wine stain. 

“Hey, Bucky!” He greets. “Right on time! Or is the time right? Which do you prefer?”  
Bucky laughs. “I guess both work, huh?”  
“Sure do, sure do. So, is this your friend?”  
“Yup.” Bucky puts an arm around Steve. “This is Steve.”  
“Alright, well, come on in!”

He step aside, welcomes them in. Steve looks up at Bucky, confusion written all over his face. Eyebrows flicked up, Bucky guides him in and can’t help but smiling when Steve’s face lights up as he realizes he’s taken him to a tattoo parlor. 

“Bucky!” He exclaims.  
“Yeah?”  
“Is this… really?!”  
“Sure! If you still want.” Bucky reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulls out pages from one of Steve’s sketchbooks. They have various clocks on them. “You’ve been drawing them. I pay attention, y’know.”  
“Can I see?”

Bucky goes to hand the drawings over, then remembers he hasn’t made proper introductions. 

“Oh, Steve, this is Wade, Wade, Steve.”

Wade is scanning over Steve’s sketches, sucking on one of the three piercings in his lip where the birthmark doesn’t touch as Steve says hello. After a few moments, Wade glances up at him.

“You did these?” Steve barely gets the chance to nod before Wade is gushing, “Wow, kid, you’re good. Real, real good. Come on over here. Consultation time. I’m giving you one of these. No if ands or buts. Too good to pass up.”

At first, Bucky’s a little worried Wade’s strong personality might scare Steve off. Steve’s a needle virgin and it’s easy to forget how intimidating the first time can be. But Steve just walks off with Wade, goes to the counter with him and hops up on one of the two stools while Wade stands on the otherside. They cover the usual things; Wade makes sure Steve isn’t a minor “Gotta keep things legal kid”, ask where he wants it, they look over the sketches, talk about aftercare, and thirty minutes later, Steve is sitting in a chair, top off and prepped to get inked. 

Minutes ago, he was talking animately with both Bucky and Wade. Now, Wade is busy getting various items ready, packaged needles and paints, the right guns, turning a spotlight on, and Steve is starting to look really nervous. Actually, he looks really fucking scared. 

“You okay, buddy?” Bucky murmurs, gently, right into Steve’s ear.

He’s not okay. He can’t be. Steve jumps at the sound of Bucky’s voice. But he still nods and says, “Just a little nervous.”

“Hey,” Bucky takes his hand. “If you don’t wanna do this…”  
“No! I do… it’s just…” He takes in a deep breath. “I feel like I’m about to go into surgery.” Steve pulls his hat down. “Stupid… I--”  
“No,” Bucky interrupts, lifting the hat. “It’s not stupid.”  
“We good over here?” Wade asks when he’s all set up. “Still going through with your masterpiece?”

Steve looks at Bucky instead of Wade. There’s an anxious smile pulled up on his lips and goddamn if Bucky’s never seen the kid look so vulnerable. He nods to him and Bucky gives a thumbs up to Wade.

“Yes!” Wade celebrates.

The second the gun turns on, Steve slams his eyes closed. His hand, still in Bucky’s, squeezes tight and when Wade brings the gun to the spot on his chest, Steve hisses loudly. Wade backs off.

“Too much?”  
Steve shakes his head. “No. I’m okay.”  
“‘Kay. Lemme know if you need to stop.”

Still in the exact same position, Steve nods in agreement, and Wade starts up again. A few whines and whimpers, couple of gasps and grunts rise out of Steve. He crushes his jaw and Bucky strokes his fingers over his hand, wipes the few tears that do manage to escape the corners of his eyes. 

“Buck?” He says through clenched teeth.  
“Yeah?”  
“Sing? For me?”  
“Anything in particular?”

He just shakes his head, so Bucky just starts with the first song that pops into his head. 

“What would you do if I sang outta tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me?”

Fitting. Steve smiles through Wade tattooing him and Bucky goes right on singing.

Altogether, including a fifteen minute break, it takes Wade about an hour and a half to finish. It comes out beautifully. A clock, hands on midnight--anyone can tell it’s not noon by the nighttime sky in the face of it--that appears to be coming out of Steve’s skin. Steve bickers with Bucky a bit when it comes to paying.

“Bucky, no, come on.” Steve says. “You set all this up. I don’t need you to pay.”  
“I know you don’t _need_ me to. I _want_ to.” He replies. Bucky pushes his lip out, rests his head down on Steve’s shoulder. “Please? Lemme pay for this? We’ll count it as one of your Christmas presents, okay?”  
Steve flashes him a smile and kisses the tip of his nose. “Are we doing that, baby? Exchanging gifts?”  
“You gotta be a dick, don’t you?” Bucky laughs. “You just love it, huh?”

Steve giggles. Bucky’s already hinted at exchanging gifts, and Steve’s teased him about it, trying to get him to outright say it. Now that he’s gone and done it, of course this little shit isn’t going to let the chance to gloat pass by. 

“You know me!” Steve gives him a cheesy grin and lets him pay. “But I’m getting you something fucking good.”  
“I’ll take it.”

After a quick conversation with Wade, who talks a little more with Steve and tells him to listen to Bucky about taking care of the tattoo (also requests that he returns when it’s healed so they can take a proper picture of it), they head out. 

It’s still really fucking cold out, and like Bucky predicted, snowing, and Steve immediately cuddles up into Bucky’s side to keep warm and fucking hell when he looks up at him Bucky’s sure his heart stops. That look on his face, it’s so fucking precious, too damn adorable and Bucky’s not even sure why he’s looking at him like that. 

“What?” Bucky’s voice fucking squeaks.  
Steve laughs at that. “Thanks for this, Bucky. It’s gonna help me get through my week. You’re… coming, right?”  
“Friday?”  
“Yeah. To my showcase?”  
“Kid, I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

It’s nothing but the fucking truth. Steve fucking Rogers. Life with Steve is great. Simple and easy. No changes. Bucky’s fallen hard, fallen fast. Everything is still the same.


	6. I Keep Forgetting To Add Cheesy Chapter Things

Stupid Bucky Barnes. Steve hates him. Can’t stand him. Nope. Loathes him entirely. Cause, really, who threatens Steve Rogers with no sex until next year if he says one more time that his art sucks? Really who the fuck does that? Well, apparently Bucky fucking Barnes does that. Cause that’s what he did. Two days ago. When Steve texted him that he hates his art and that he sucks and that he’s giving up and he got back:

**swear to God, u say that 1 more time I’m not fucking you until next year.**

But Steve had been frustrated, and once again ready to just give it up, work at fucking Starbucks or something for the rest of his life because art is just so not worth it.

**Steve: Liar. Ur addicted to me &u know it. sides, this is fucking pointless. I suck.**

**Bucky: know what? I’m dead serious. Say it again? Sex off the table till next year buddy.**

He scoffed when he read it. But then he read it again. And again, and Steve realized that Bucky wasn’t just giving him an empty threat. Nope. He was serious. 

**Steve: Shit no! Don’t do that, Bucky! Please!**

**Bucky: Don’t say it. You’ll be fine.**

Steve took a quick selfie, big sulky face, lips lowered, eyes pouty, and sent that. 

He got back a picture too. It was Bucky, giving him a sultry look, right in between Clint and Nat, with a message that said they’d be getting all his love from now till then if he wasn’t careful. 

**Steve: ok ok! you win!**

One more message that night. Another pic. Bucky winking and puckering those sinful lips of his. Of course, they looked even more ravishing that night. But then, Bucky always looks fucking ravishing if Steve wants him to. 

The showcase is fucking tomorrow. Tomorrow. And Steve is literally one piece away from utter failure. Which is a ridiculous way to look at it cause if this was Bucky complaining that he had one more song to go to failure, he’d be slapping him around. Steve only has one piece to finish until he’s actually done with his entire collection and then it’s up to the gods of Pratt, also known as the art department--come who have, so far, been pretty fucking hardcore and picky and… _fuck_ , fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s so doomed. 

**Group Text: Sam & Sharon**

**What the fuck am I doing?? I’m never gonna pass!!**

**Sharon: Who the fuck is this and what have u done with my Steve?**

Steve laughs. And doesn’t get a chance to reply to that before Sam’s response gets in.

**Sam: Yea rly. wtf is going on?**

**Steve: srly guys! i’m scared outta my mind!**

**Sam: Nah Steve ur fucking gonna do gr8**

**Sharon: Listen to Sam. Uv been doing this since we were kids.**

The work desk is giving him a bit of a headache, so Steve gets up and moves away from it. Just a little break. That’s what he needs. He plops down on his bed. Supine. Holds the phone up, arms’ length as he types. 

**Steve: It was easy then. Just for fun.**

**Sharon: No fun now?**

**Sam: It’s not fun?**

**Steve: No it is… i love it it’s just… uuuuugHhh!!11! i just suck**

He sighs and grunts and looks back over at his almost finished work. There are only three pieces still here. The others are all at the studio at school already. A knot pulls in Steve’s stomach. Fear and excitement. 

His phone goes off again, two times in a row before he can bring it up, smiles when he sees two encouraging messages. 

**Sharon: Yep. But you’ve sucked forever. Some things never change! We can drink on it ;)**

**Sam: If you suck that bad we’ll take you out all winter break deal?**

**Steve: Can always count on you two!! xoxo gotta get back to work. see you tomorrow?**

**Sam: fuck yeah u will.**

**Sharon: mwah. see you there.**

Rolling onto his stomach, Steve let’s his upper body hang off the side of the bed for a few moments. He’s hungry. Gotta get something to eat. Gotta finish working, too. A starving artist. He almost laughs. He hasn’t quite figured out which he’s going to take care of first, trying to finish his work or quiet the growling in his stomach, when his phone buzzes again. It’s still on the mattress. Steve reaches up for it, groping around a bit until he grabs it. He smiles when he sees Bucky’s name around the message icon. His eyes bug out though when he reads the message.

 **Bucky: Hmm… so i guess we’re not having sex till next year bud. told you not to say you suck!!**

**Steve: Whaaat!! no! no no no no! I didn’t!**

Steve knows he did, but he said it to Sam and Sharon. He checks the group text, makes sure he didn’t accidently include Bucky in it. He didn’t. He swears he didn’t. Bucky’s name isn’t on it. What the fuck? How the hell? Bucky hasn’t answered. 

**Steve: Bucky! No!!**

Still no answer. Steve tries again.

**Steve: Bucky!! Come on, baby! Please!!**

Steve finally gets a message, but it’s not from Bucky.

**Sam: Sorry, dude.**

**Steve: Sam!! How??**

**Sharon: lol we’re all together. He saw the text. Sry sweetie. :x**

**Clint: lmfao. this is incredible. never thought id see the day som1 wuld hav steve rogers over a fucking barrel.**

**Steve: fuck! he’s totally fucking enjoying htis isn’t he???**

Nat sends him a video a few minutes later of Bucky and Maria dancing in Clint and Bucky’s living room. Bucky’s shirtless, hair wet and down and all over the place (like maybe he’s just gotten out of the shower), and singing along with Shakira’s _Hips Don’t Lie_ , grinding up against Maria and then Clint joins and thrusts up behind Bucky and it’s hot enough to make Steve whimper out loud. He gets another text while watching. That one’s from Bucky.

**Bucky: Sorry, Stevie. That’s not gonna be u until next year. You get to be a spectator till then. ;P**

Before answering Bucky directly, Steve sends out one mass text to each and every one of them.

Steve: You are all the WORST!! 

There are several ‘lols’ and ‘apologies’, emojis, and a few quick little messages in response. All make Steve chuckle. 

He sends a much more pathetic and wimpy and fucking pleading one to Bucky.

**Steve: I’m sorry! Please please please! I’m sorry baby! don’t take sex away from me! :(**

**Bucky: No dice buddy >:) Wanna try some better groveling than that?**

Fuck! Steve groans. Sure, the New Year is just about two weeks away but two weeks without sex? Two weeks without sex with Bucky? Two weeks with being around Bucky without sex with Bucky? Two weeks with being around Bucky without sex with Bucky with Bucky probably toying with him the whole fucking time? Torture. Torment. No fucking way. Steve’ll do pretty much anything to avoid it. 

He gets down on his knees, holds his phone out and takes a picture that way, pathetic expression plastered all over his face. Closest thing he can get to begging. Sends it with a message.

 **Steve: I’m sorry, Bucky. Forgive me, baby? I’ll be good.**

**Bucky: Yea yea. maybe i’ll let that one slide. but only cause ur so fucking adorable. see you tomorrow.**

Pulling his elbow in, Steve does his own little private victory dance, giggling about what Bucky’s said to him. With a sigh, he gets back up and goes to do some more work.

Hours later, Steve’s still hunched over his desk. He rubs his eyes under his glasses. They’re starting to strain, to hurt from all the fucking work he’s been putting them through. His back and shoulders hurt, too. What he wouldn’t give to have Bucky here right now to rub them for him.

A breath catches in his lungs when he catches note of the time. Fuck, it’s after two in the morning already. He’s still not satisfied with this last piece, he wants to go over the three that are still here with him, he’s still hungry, holy shit how is he going to get through this and survive? 

The answer? He’s not. This is it. Steve is doomed. Fuck. This isn’t even a joke anymore. Tears fill his eyes. Steve blinks them away, wipes his eyes and his face and, starts to shake. He glances around his place. His Ma is dying and he’s going to fail out of the Master’s program in the first semester. He’s not even going to be able to _teach_ art, let alone go after his dreams like Bucky’s been encouraging him to do. 

There’s a burning in his chest. Steve moans as he feels his lungs tightening, fire spreading. Shaky hands reach into his pocket and pull out his inhaler, pump the medicine into his body. All he wants to do is crawl into a corner and cry for a while. 

Steve’s phone buzzing actually startles him. It’s on the edge of the desk and he grabs it before it can fall. He needs to catch his breath before he can even look at it. Steve is too dazed to even care that it’s a message from Bucky or that it’s so late and he’s texting him. He still opens it though, presses play on the video he’s sent.

Bucky’s sitting on his bed again, topless, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, that bit in the front falling out like always. His acoustic guitar is across his lap and he pulls his lips up in a smile, licking them a bit as he does. 

“Hey, buddy.” He greets softly, adding a quick wave. “This is for you.” Bucky starts strumming, fingers expertly plucking away at the strings of his guitar and begins to sing: 

“All your time  
Seems wasting on away  
But I’m here to tell you  
You’ve never gone and wasted any day

It’s in your steps and in your touch  
In all those smiles  
The breaths  
And in all your laughs

Won’t you see the light inside you?  
All the folklore lost in time?  
It breathes the life that forms around you  
And every heart you touch it grows in size

There’s one thing I need you to  
Always understand  
That when I take your hand  
It’s cause you make me strong

I feel bad for all the losers  
Who’ll always looked the other way  
They’ll never have someone like you  
To help protect them every day

So tell me when I’ve made  
A big enough fool of myself  
Then say  
‘shut up, jerk, gimme a kiss’”

Bucky lowers his chin, hiding a shy smile. Steve has tears in his eyes. He’s not quite sure why, but they’re in there, blurring his vision enough that he needs to wipe them dry to see clearly when Bucky sets his guitar to the side and leans forward to look right at the phone’s camera.

“Breathe, Stevie. You’re gonna do fine tomorrow, okay? And eat something cause I know you haven’t. Oh, and take you meds and don’t you dare get fucking pissed at me right now,” He points one finger at him like he’s warning him, “just fucking do it.” Bucky flashes one last smile. “Get some sleep. Night, buddy.”

It cuts out there and Steve takes in a deep breath, hand wiping under his eyes again. He feels, shit, he doesn’t know what he feels, cause fuck, it can’t be love, this airy, dizzy feeling that leaves him teetering on giddy and floating. No, it just can’t be. He can’t really be in love with Bucky. It’s not fair. Wasn’t supposed to happen.

Sure, they said they’d take see where things went, but _this_ wasn’t where it was supposed to go. Not love. Just… no. Love makes things complicated and complicated screws everything up. 

Steve breathes out slowly, lips pursed and slowly pulling up into a smile. No. He’s not in love, he can’t be, not yet anyway. Getting there, maybe, but there’s still time. Hope? Is that the right sentiment? Should someone hope not to fall in love? Fuck, Steve doesn’t know. 

But he picks up his phone, types up a quick reply to Bucky, who, no, no, Steve’s not in love with.

**Steve: That was fucking… corny as fucking hell, dude. wtf?**

**Bucky: oh thank you. can always coutn on you ;P**

Steve laughs. Normal things. This is nice. What he needs to get through the rest of the night. 

**Steve: Bucky… that was fucking beautiful. srly. thank you so much. I mean that. bottom of my heart.**

**Bucky: Steven Rogers r u being mushy with me???**

He rolls his eyes, but Steve needs to be honest here, can’t cover this up with his normal antics. 

**Steve: Shit. You caught me. Yes. Bucky u have no idea. I… u made me cry dude. I was having a breakdown, for real. Think you just saved me tonight. Thank you baby.**

A few minutes goes by and Steve wonders if maybe Bucky fell asleep. He usually answers pretty fast. But when he’s in the kitchen, fixing himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because Bucky told him to get something to eat, his phone finally goes off again.

**Bucky: Steve… do you need anything? Food? Drink? Company? I’ll be there if you do.**

**Bucky: & you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it.**

**Steve: Fuck. I’d love for you to come over. But I think I’m actually going to go to bed. Nothing more I can really do without just driving myself crazy.**

**Bucky: k. get some sleep Stevie.**

**Steve: nite bucky.**

Steve only goes over his project one last time before doing what he said he would. He doesn’t know if he’s completely, one hundred percent satisfied with it, but then, he’s never really sure of that anyway. 

It’s about three in the morning when he crawls into bed, head under the pillow hoping to keep the fears and anticipation of tomorrow from creeping in. Since it doesn’t work very well, Steve takes his phone and plays Bucky’s video again. He drifts off by the third time watching it. 

***

Steve’s eyes are burning a little. This is why he prefers his glasses to contacts. Contacts dry them out sometimes. He pulls on the collar of his shirt, tries to loosen the tie without actually loosening the tie. He’s sweating under his suit’s jacket. Formal suit. Ugh. Steve hates wearing suits. Hates, hates, hates it. They’re hot and itchy and uncomfortable and right now he’d give anything to be able to do this in a pair of jeans and his favorite t-shirt. Fuck, even a button down would be fine as long as it was one of his favorites. He’s even fine in a tie loosely hanging around his neck. 

“Stop fidgeting, Steven.” Sarah scolds. “Honestly, sometimes I think you’re actually twelve years old again.”  
Steve grunts, “Sorry, Ma.” 

He pulls a bit at his sleeve, but she puts a hand on his to stop him from doing it.

“Steve, baby, you’re going to do just fine.”

Steve smiles at her. The only reason she’s even allowed in here with him right now is because he explained her situation to his professors. Along with Steve, six other students are there presenting their work tonight. One hundred and five pieces, all displayed for each and every member of the art department here to grade. Not just their professors--their work is now going to be at the mercy of the entire department. Steve might throw up.

“Mama?”

She looks up at him from her wheelchair. Not a bad day, just too much for her to stand the whole time. 

“Yeah, baby?”  
“I don’t feel good.”

He can barely even whimper it, sure he’s going to throw up all over the place. Steve looks around at the few other students. They’re all dressed up, too, and none of them look nervous. All of them are staring at Steve. Okay, no they’re not. And, yes, they look just as nervous as Steve does. 

His mom starts stroking his hand, and he can make out the soft sounds of her humming _You Are My Sunshine_ , like she used to before he went in for surgeries. Sarah is dressed beautifully. Nice evening gown, dark blue, and Darcie has done her make up. She looks the same way she did just a year ago. Bright, cheery, strong. If only Steve could keep her this way.

“Can I look yet, Steve?”  
He shakes his head. “No!” He whispers. “Not yet!”

“Okay!” Someone announces.

Head of the art department, Professor Grey. She’s standing at the front of the studio, right by the doors and clapped her hands in addition to shouting. It makes Steve’s stomach leap to his throat. 

“I’m about to let everyone in. But before I do, I’d advise everyone to glance over your displays once more, make sure every piece is marked correctly,” Steve turns and does that as she goes on, “Whatever is listed on those programs is how your pieces will be graded. Remember, we’re treating this just like an exhibit opening. Guests will be arriving, d'oeuvres and drinks will be served, and you will be expected to behave professionally. Keep in mind, you don’t know who might be here.”

They’ve been reminded this over and over again. Established artists can show up, curators, agents--anyone who they can make an impression on. Another wave of nausea rolls over him. 

“Well then, if everyone’s ready…” Professor Grey isn’t exactly giving them much of a choice, since she just turns around and pushes the double doors open. 

There’s a murmur of voices out there. People are gathered around, waiting to come in and see all the art, ugh, Steve wants to roll his eyes at the idea of his pieces being called art. Holy shit, he’s going to pass out. He needs to take a breath from his inhaler. Sarah holds his hand as he does. Guests are pouring into the room, mulling over pieces already, pointing to others, smiling and ooo-ing and ahhing, while professors are walking around with clipboards, jotting down notes to make their grades. 

“Now?” Sarah asks, smile in her voice. “Can I look?”

He whines a little, but there are people coming towards them and Steve doesn’t want strangers to see before her. 

“Yeah. Okay, Ma.”

Steve turns Sarah in her wheelchair so she can face his display. Even with the buzz of chatter filling the room, he can hear her gasp.

“Oh! Steven!”  
Crooked smile pulls up on his mouth. “Is it… good? You like it?”  
“Like it? It’s beautiful!”

Steve’s idea was to draw life inspired comic panels. Realism meets comic art. There’s the NYU Hospital in a top panel; background comic, hospital realism, bottom panel; a portrait of Sarah (realism), a superhero nurse fighting off viruses (comic). She’s looking at that one, brushing a tear from her eye.

“Steve,” Her voice cracks and she tries to stand up on her own.  
“Ma, wait…”  
“No, I want a better look.”

He nods, helps her to her feet. Sarah wipes her eyes again and looks to another one that’s of her. This one’s in a hospital room--room, comic, bed and people, realism--and Super Sarah is protecting a sick boy from the evil viruses. Bottom panel shows her victorious, the sick boy now well, healthy, strong. No secret from them who the sick boy is. 

One last piece with them has three panels. Top panel; Super Sarah, realism, arch-nemesis, comic. It’s defeating Super Sarah. Middle panel, the once sick boy tries to help. Can’t. Super Sarah bestows her powers to him and makes him Super boy. Bottom panel has the background, realism, Super boy, comic. He sits alone and cries with all Super Sarah’s strength and nothing he can do to save her.

Sarah touches Steve’s face, leans in and hugs him. Tears fill Steve’s eyes. 

“Hey. No.” She tells him. “No crying here. Not today, okay?”  
“Okay.” He whispers.  
“This is beautiful, baby.” Sarah tells him. “All of this. Every one of them.”  
“Thank you, Mama.”

Sick boy turned Super boy makes an appearance in the rest of the pieces, always in comic form, while surrounded by realism. Except in one; the final, center piece. Sarah takes note of this, smiles warmly at him. It makes Steve even more nervous for others to see it.

The first of his guests that show up are Sam, Maria, and Sharon. Steve spots them as they make their way across the room. They, like Sarah, react with gasps and awed, slack-jawed smiles at his pieces.

“Steve… holy shit.” Maria comments. “They said you were amazing, but, wow, I had… no idea to expect _this_ kind of amazing.” She points to a panel, crime fighting drummer (realism), taking down a bank robbery (comic) and grins at him. “Is that me?”

Steve blushes and nods.

“Hey look, Nat, we’re in this, too!”

From next to him, Steve jerks away and sees Clint nearly towering over him, big goofy grin on his face now that he has Steve’s attention. He’s _almost_ dressed for the occasion. Suit jacket, t-shirt under it. Nat is at his side, black dress on, hair cascading around her shoulders and too busy looking at Steve’s work to say hello at the moment.

“Hey, guys!” Steve greets. “You like?”  
Nat is still going over the pieces, but her lips turn up in a smirk. “Me as a superhero ballerina (realism)? Kicking ass with a bass that shoots lasers? I’ll take it.”  
“So, is the dog (comic) my sidekick?” Clint wonders. “Or am I the _dog’s_ sidekick?”  
Steve laughs. “I guess I’ll leave that up to you. Nothing’s canon just yet.” He glances around, looks at Sharon and Sam as they laugh at the three pieces of them, along with Rhodey and a few other of their friends (all realism), using their various life born skills to take down a secret government organization (comic), and feels a pull at his stomach. “Bucky didn’t come with you?”  
“Uh, actually…” Clint glances to Nat. “I haven’t seen him all day.”  
Nat wrinkles her face. “Yeah, where is that fucker?”

Steve has no time to let that bother him. A few professors happen to wander over, and though he’s not supposed to talk to them, he can’t help but agonize over every expression, every movement, every fucking blink they make while they’re standing there. They’re jotting things down on their little clipboards, their precious little clipboards that Steve hates, that Steve can just take and break in half if only he had the strength. 

When they start to leave, Steve watches everyone looking at his and other pieces. Family and friends--friends who are his family. Mingling with Sarah who smiles and laughs with them and doesn’t look out of place or uncomfortable at all in her wheelchair. Sam and Sharon stick by her side the whole time since Steve is supposed to stay by his work. 

An arm, strong, warm, familiar, slips around Steve’s waist, and he breathes out a relieved sigh. He hadn’t realized how fucking nervous he was until all the nerves were damn near shattered by just one affectionate embrace.

“I didn’t think you were coming.”  
Bucky snickers in his ear. “Why?”  
“Cause…” Why? Because he was late? What a stupid fucking reason. “I don’t know.” 

God Steve’s so not being Steve lately. But it’s okay. Bucky’s here now. A grin fixes itself to Steve’s lips and he turns to greet him. The words fall short, can’t come out. Because holy fucking shit, Steve’s never seen Bucky in a suit before and it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to climb all over him. No, really, his dick is actually starting to get hard just looking at him. He’s not a fucking horny teenager, but Steve feels like a fucking horny teenager.

“What?” Bucky asks, his eyes scanning over himself like maybe he’s put his shirt on backwards.

No, no. Nothing out of place. Just every fucking thing is perfect and beautiful. He’s wearing black on black, tie done up perfectly, tattoos on his neck just peeking out of the collar of his shirt, jacket pressed nicely. He looks like a million bucks. Not like Steve, all awkward and stiff (heh) and uncomfortable. 

“Okay, please, _please_ , tell me you’re not really gonna make me wait until next year.”

Doesn’t look like Bucky knows exactly what Steve’s talk about at first. Then his eyes light up with wicked understanding and he licks his lips. 

“Hm.” He hums. “Is that what’s going on?” Bucky leans in and whispers, “Well I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

Steve can hear himself whimper and then hears Bucky hold in a laugh. A blush warms his cheeks, and Bucky looks quite satisfied with himself. 

“Goddamn,” Steve mutters. “I can’t wait till this is over and everything goes back to normal.”  
Bucky chuckles. “And what’s normal?”  
“You all blushy around me.”  
“Ah,” He smiles. “Okay. We’ll get there.”

Bucky runs a hand over Steve’s cheek, smile on his face before turning his attention over to Steve’s display. The smile fades, replaced by that look of awe the others had. Steve is much more interested in watching Bucky’s reaction--just like he had been in Sarah’s. He stays where he is as Bucky moves forward to take everything in, laughs a little when he easily recognizes the first piece with The Winter Soldiers.

“This is us!” He chuckles.

Steve nods and just waits as Bucky goes on. He hasn’t gotten to the centerpiece yet, the completion of the Sick boy turned Super boy’s story, and Steve’s stomach is rolling over and over and over. He needs to take another breath from his inhaler as he waits. God why did he make that one? Bucky’s going to hate it. He knows it. He’s fucking shaking like a goddamn leaf as Bucky makes his way over to it. Maybe Steve should just run away before it’s too late. 

Too late. Bucky glances over his shoulder and catches Steve before he can make his daring escape. Steve is chewing his fucking fingers. Fuck, why couldn’t he wear his fucking hat tonight? Bucky looks at the canvas again. Not a full portrait of him, but enough of his face to know who it is. His lips, his chin, his neck--complete with tattoos--and metal arm (all realism) reaching down over the top panel and into the bottom. Fingers wound together, Sick boy turned Super boy holding onto the metal hand, looking up, hopeful, smiling, (comic turning to realism). Even the background is comic turning to realism. 

As the minutes tick by, and Bucky stays there much longer than anyone else has, Steve seriously considers just bolting for the door. Really, fuck his grade and possible future career. He’s fine with the idea of just burying himself in a hole for just a few years. But finally, finally, Jesus fucking Christ, _finally_ , Bucky turns, slowly, head, not quite down, but not up either, and makes his way back over. 

“Buck?” Steve murmurs. He’s not even sure if he said it cause he could barely hear it himself. “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that one. Fuck. I…”  
“Shut up, Steve.”

Steve does. Bucky’s voice his off, wobbly even, but hard and firm at the same time. Steve’s not sure what to make of it. When Bucky finally looks up at him, his eyes are red, like he’s been crying. 

“Aw, fuck me, Bucky, I’m sorry!” Steve exclaims. “Really, if I had known…”  
“Steve!” Bucky grabs him by the shoulders. A few tears really do slide down his face and Steve doesn’t know what to do. So he reaches up and wipes them away for him. Bucky’s eyes close and he just whispers, “Thank you, Stevie,” before kissing his cheek and strolling away.

Steve watches him the entire time as he walks over to where everyone else is. First person he greets is Steve’s Ma, big smile, leaning down to give her a hug as though they’ve been best pals for years. If Steve hadn’t seen it happen, he’d never know just a few moments ago Bucky’d been crying at all.

Two hours later, the evening is beginning to wind down. The whole art department has been by, a few professors more than once. Several people have come over and then dragged others back to Steve’s display, anxious to show their companions what he’s done. Once Sarah had made her way around the place once, she opted to stay by Steve’s side the rest of the night. Steve’s pretty damn happy about that, too. Sarah’s always been his biggest fan and it’s everything to him that she’s able to be here with him tonight since this is the best to an opening of his she’ll probably ever see. 

Everyone else keeps making rounds, none of them have left, and Bucky is acting like what happened before didn’t happen. Steve’s not going to push, not gonna say a damn word about it either. Right now, they’re all at a display two artists down, modern sculptures, talking with the young women who made them--Sue, Steve thinks her name is--and Bucky happens to glance over in his direction. He’s smiling, laughing along with whatever they’re talking about. There’s a flute of champagne in his hand and a lifts it up to Steve as though to both toast to him and to say hi. Steve grins and smiles back. 

There’s also someone standing at his display, a young man, few years older than Bucky maybe. He looks familiar, but Steve can’t quite place him. He’s been here for quite a while now, going over and over Steve’s pieces. His fingers have reached out and skimmed just along the surface of the canvases, never quite touching, but coming close. He’s smiled and nodded, eyes lighting up as though noticing something new each time he’s returned to a piece. When he looks at Steve now, he lifts his chin at him and comes over.

“Are you the artist?” He asks.  
“Uh, yeah,” Steve rattles his head. “Yes. Yes, that’s me.”  
“You’re excellent.” He compliments and waves behind him to the display. “These are absolutely fantastic.”  
Steve grins. “Thank you, really. That’s so nice of you to say.”  
“Are you thinking of going into story art? Comic books?”  
“Er, yeah, I mean, no, well…” He shakes his head, but his mother gives him a pinch in the thigh. Steve holds in a hiss. “I mean, yeah, sorta.”  
The man holds in a laugh. “You’re Steve, right? Steve Rogers?”  
“Yeah.”

He holds his hand out. Steve takes it, they shake in greeting. The man’s quite pleasurable.

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. Bucky Barnes?” He pauses and waits for Steve to respond, but all Steve can do is give him a wide-eyed nod. “Bucky and I met up today. He asked if I could come. Glad I did.”

Steve can feel his face fall. Peter Parker. Peter fucking Parker is here, standing at his exhibit and complimenting him. He searches for Bucky again. He’s still in the same spot, watching, lips, folded, furrow between his eyes. He looks really fucking nervous. Steve looks back at Peter.

“I… thank you!” He says. “Thank you so much for coming!”  
Peter chuckles. “Pleasure is mine. And really. I mean it when I say you’re talented. Real talented.” He starts pointing directly to some of his individual pieces. “Your attention to detail? Your line work? Shading? Color process? This is all very unique. Not something you see all the time. I think you can go somewhere with this.”  
“Jesus…” Steve mumbles. “Thank you! Really, I… I don’t know what to say!”  
He smiles at him again. “Listen, I hope you don’t mind, but, I, uh, I emailed my boss over at Wonder Comics. There’s an internship, paid and everything, during the summer. If you’re interested at the end of next semester,” Peter reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a business card and hands it to Steve, “Shoot me an email. Your name’s already at the top of the list.”

All Steve can do for a moment is stare at the card. At Peter Parker’s fucking business card. He glances back up and is trying so hard to act cool and casual and fails so fucking miserably when this ridiculously huge smile pulls the corners of his lips up and all he can say is, “Yeah! Awesome!”

But Peter doesn’t seem put off by it at all. In fact, instead of shaking his hand in any business sort of fashion, he gives Steve a high five, nods to Sarah and then leaves. Steve can only watch for a second as he walks over to Bucky to talk before turning back to his Ma.

“Ma!” He exclaims.  
“Baby!” She’s ecstatic, fucking beaming. “I _told_ you!”

She’s holding both of his hands and neither of them are saying anything. They don’t need to. They don’t want to. Because they know come summer Sarah probably won’t be here. But they have this. This moment. One moment to celebrate the possibility of Steve’s dreams becoming a reality. 

“Steve?”

That’s Bucky. Behind him. Voice quiet and cautious. Steve turns around and before he can give him a kiss, a hug, a thank you, throw himself on his knees and profess his lifelong debt, Bucky is biting his lip and running his fingers through his hair.

“Are you mad? I’m sorry if you’re mad.” He’s saying. “It’s just… my _God_ , Steve _look_ at how talented you are! I just… you _can’t_ be a teacher. You fucking can’t! Not without least _trying_ to do what you want first. _Please_ , I’m _begging_ you, Stevie. Please don’t be mad at me for asking Peter to come… he’s got connections and…”

Steve throws his arms around Bucky’s neck, cuts him off with a kiss. He probably shouldn’t. Not with the professional atmosphere he’s supposed to be maintaining. Evening’s pretty much over at this point though. Grades should be in, studio’s basically emptied out. Most people left are here for him.

And anyway Steve Rogers is in love. Head over heels in love with Bucky fucking Barnes. That complicates things. Yeah, it really fucking complicates things. Right now? In this moment? Surrounded by brand new art? Walking on air, Ma happy, friends that are good as family there to support him, dreams possibly coming true, lips against the most incredible mouth in the world? Steve doesn’t care. 

Because Steve Rogers is totally, completely, one hundred percent in love with Bucky fucking Barnes.


	7. You Want Chapter Titles? Too Bad. I Can't Give Them To You

Fuck like rabbits. Is that the expression?

Or is it like bunnies?

Whatever it is, that’s what Bucky and Steve’s relationship consists of in the months that follow. Bucky didn’t have it in him to make Steve wait until the new year. Couldn’t do it to that adorable guy. Couldn’t do it to himself either. Not especially after the night of Steve’s showcase (which the fucker got a damn A on. “After all the fucking freaking out you did, you get a fucking A?” “Well? I guess so!”). And fuck, Bucky’s glad he didn’t wait.

Steve was a fucking saint that night. Or the fucking Devil. However one chooses to look at it, Bucky was the one who benefitted most. Four fucking orgasms. Four. Bucky’d been able to get off more than once before, but four? Kid really wanted to show his gratitude and boy did he. Steve had Bucky screaming for Christ’s sake, all out, top of his lungs screaming. 

Christmas came (so did they, more than once, Christmas morning and night). Bucky convinced Becca it wasn’t a betrayal to her if he spent it with Steve and his Ma instead of going with her to their mother’s burial site. Steve had spent Christmas Eve with him at the Duggan’s place (same principles applied to Thanksgiving Wednesday). But when Steve (and, admittedly, Sarah) found out that the Barnes siblings usually took a blanket to the cemetery that day, Steve called Bucky a bonehead and insisted the he call Becca up and go with her. 

Becca had been thrilled and asked Bucky to invite the Rogers to come along. Both Steve and his mom did. They stood off to the side while he and Becca wrapped their mother’s grave in their blanket. Becca cried in his arms like she always does and Bucky stayed strong for her. Back and Steve’s, or Sarah’s really, Bucky had someone’s arms to cry in. And they weren’t Steve’s. Or, they could have been, but Sarah offered and it felt wonderful. And horrible at the same time. Because Sarah Rogers is an angel and she’s fucking dying and it’s not fucking fair. Bucky would do anything to keep Steve from having to feel the pain of losing her. 

The week between Christmas and New Years? They fuck like rabbits. Or bunnies. Whatever. 

New Years Eve, they spent some time partying with everyone at SHIELD. It was fun, and the only reason they’d ever be able to be there on such a night was because of Clint. Loud music, half price drinks--courtesy of Clint and his boss, Nick Fury--dancing, good food. Around nine o’clock, they left. All of them. Steve assured them, over and over and over, that it wasn’t necessary. That they could stay and keep having their good time. They all said no. So, Bucky, Sam, Sharon (those two apparently hadn’t missed a New Years with Steve in the past five years or so and weren’t gonna start now), Rhodey (back in town for the weekend), Maria, Tasha and Clint, went with Steve and all piled into Sarah Rogers’ small apartment to ring in one final New Years with her. 

Sarah seemed to soak in all the fun like a fucking flower in the sun. Even if all she could do was sit on the couch, a few blankets around her, oxygen mask on, she laughed and smiled and poked fun at everyone as they watched cheesy New Years Eve live television that was happening just across the river. When the ball fell, Bucky had turned to give Steve a kiss, but Steve was curled up in his mother’s arms, taking advantage of everyone celebrating to not be seen. His hat was pulled down and he was crying, hard, violently even, as far as Bucky could tell. Sarah was stroking her hand over his neck and back, but she looked distressed, Steve’s weight, as little as it was, a bit too much for her. 

She glanced up at him, the look in her eyes giving him enough incentive to go over and try to help her out. Bucky tried to move Steve a little, but Steve only clung tighter onto Sarah.

“Stevie,” Bucky murmured. “You need to give your mom a little breather. Just a little bit, okay? We’ll come right back. Promise.”

Steve had been trembling pretty hard, but Bucky did manage to pry him away and carry him into his old bedroom where he latched onto him instead of Sarah and just bawled wordlessly. 

From what Bucky can tell, Steve’s not hanging onto any sort of false hope. The fact that Sarah’s made it through the holidays and into the start of spring in pretty good condition is nothing short of a fucking miracle. Steve seems to have a pretty good grip on that fact that his mom is not gonna make some miraculous recovery. 

They spent most of Steve’s winter break over at Sarah’s place, which was pretty awesome in and of itself, given they felt the need to sneak their sex felt like a couple of dopey teenagers when they fucked like rabbits. Or bunnies. Whatever. May have played the part a few times, too. Even though Steve had plenty of money in the trust fund set up by him by his father, he worked a few hours every week at the coffee shop on campus. Sarah was very adamant about Steve going right back to his place once the semester started again.

Most of the time, Steve acts his normal self. He still has the uncanny ability to make Bucky blush and feel like he’s the luckiest guy in the world and shit Steve’s so fucking adorable even when he’s being a little shit. They still fuck like rabbits and bunnies and whatever. But sometimes, when he thinks no one’s paying attention, Steve’ll just stare off into space and it looks like the world his crumbling down around him. There’s been a few outbursts, most of which Bucky’s been able to talk him down from, others he’s had to just let pass, one that got so bad--with Steve slamming fists into the wall--he needed to call Sam for. 

Bucky singing to him usually keeps him in a good mood whenever he’s not. He likes it when Bucky sings his song to him, very uncreatively titled _Steve’s Song_. He’ll sing it to him whenever he wants him to. Except right now.

Because right now he’s sick. And if there’s one thing Bucky really fucking hates it’s being sick. 

March comes in like a lion out like a lamb? Is that what they say? Well whoever they are, Bucky’d like to find them and beat the hell out of them cause they lie every fucking year. It’s the end of March and it’s still fucking nasty out. Cold and icy and rainy. He would, too, beat the hell outta them, but right now his head’s all stuffy and his throat is scratchy and his belly feels yucky and he’s whiny and…

“Bucky, stop whining.”  
“But, Tasha, I don’t _feel_ good!”

Blanket over his head like a hood, he pouts and rests on her shoulder. They’re on the couch, this month’s Lucky curled up in corner of it, right by Bucky’s feet. Clint is in the shower at the moment and when he’s all done, he and Tasha will be headed out for a dinner and a movie night. The band was supposed to have a show tonight but, well, given the sudden epidemic, they had to cancel. 

“Have you taken anything?” Tasha asks.   
“Yes.” He sniffles.   
“What’ve you been taking?”  
“Dunno.” Bucky coughs. “Cold and flu stuff.”  
“Is it time to take more?”

Bucky picks his head up, gives her his most pathetic look and nods. She rolls her eyes at him, but he knows she holding in a smile. Not many people get to see her soft side. He’s one of them. Proven when she hops off the couch, shuffles into the kitchen and returns with the bottle of cold medicine and a spoon. Tasha doesn’t just hand the stuff over to him either. Just like Bucky knew she wouldn’t. No, she sits back down with him, pours out the medicine and feeds it to him. 

“You’re the best, Tasha.” He tells her, voice a little less raspy with the syrupy meds just running down them.   
“Don’t I know it.”

She sets the bottle and spoon aside and when she turns back, Tasha holds her arms out. Bucky grins and cuddles his head into her lap like Clint’s been letting him do for the past two days. He pulls the blanket away from his head for this so that she can run her fingers through his hair the way he likes. 

“So where’s Steve been?” She asks. “Why isn’t he here taking care of your baby ass?”  
Bucky coughs through a laugh. “School. He had midterms this week.”  
“Oh of course. He gets the easy stuff.”  
“Easy stuff?”  
“Yeah, he gets tests and we have to take care of _you_.”  
“Hey!” He whines.

But he does it a little too loudly, exerts a bit too much energy cause, fuck, he starts coughing like crazy and it makes his head spin and chest hurt and then he starts groaning. 

“Jesus, Bucky,” Clint mumbles as he ambles into the room, pulling a shirt over his head. “You’re the worst patient ever.”  
“I _hate_ being sick!”  
“Yes.” He sighs. “I know. We got through this _every_ year, buds.”

Bucky goes to respond, answers with an unexpected sneeze, feels like his entire brain is going to come out with it, and moans instead of replying. 

“Yeah, okay, I need to get out of the infirmary for a little while.” Clint states. “You ready, Nat?”  
“Yep.”

She slides out from under Bucky, and he does nothing to make it easy for her, so when she is away, his head plops down on the couch. 

“I can’t believe you guys are going to leave me here all alone!” He complains. “What if I _need_ something!”  
“I’m sure you’ll manage.” Tasha says, adding an affectionate pat on his head.   
“But… but _food_!”  
“There’s soup in the kitchen.” Clint reminds him.   
“From a can!”  
“Dude, when the fuck have I _ever_ made you soup?”  
Bucky scratches his nose. “Last year. When I had the flu.”  
“Fuck.” Clint grunts. “I forgot about that. Well, you’ll have to make do with cans for now.” They’re at the door now, Tasha waving from the hallway. “Be back in a few hours. Just get some fucking rest.”

Bucky’s alone for approximately five minutes when he’s digging through the couch cushions for his cell. Fucking thing has to be there somewhere. He finds it, yanks it out and starts texting Steve. Then stops before he sends it.

He, well, fuck, Bucky fucking misses him. It’s not like they’ve never gone a few days without seeing each other, but this is going on day four now and… _fuck_. There hasn’t been this been much of a gap between visits since the first month or so of their arrangement. But, hey, it’s okay to miss his friend, right? That doesn’t mean anything. Bucky misses Tasha when they don’t see each other for a bit. He certainly misses Clint when he spends a few nights at Tasha’s. Bucky doesn't like being alone, enjoys having someone there to cuddle with. He’s learned to accept that about himself. No reason to panic just because he feels it about Steve, too. 

Because he’s not going to freak out. Bucky’s not going to do the thing. He’s not. Nope. Easy. Simple. Not complicated. Steve.

He sends his message.

**Steeeevviiiieeee!! Heeellllpp meeee!!!!**

It takes a few minutes before he gets an answer. Not unusual. It’s normal for Steve to take his time before he responds. 

**Steve: Aw baby r u still feeling that bad?**

Blanket back over his head, used tissues crumpled up all around him, Bucky even pops a thermometer under his tongue for added effect and snaps a picture. Sends that along with:

**Come take care of me. Pllleasssee :((((**

**Steve: Where’s clint?**

**Bucky: Out with tasha.**

**Steve: Fuck. I can’t come over buck. I’m going out with Sam, Shar and Maria. :/**

**Bucky: noooo! pleease stevieee! i neeed youuu!!**

**Steve: i’m sorry baby. tomorrow? i’ll bring lunch. promise.**

**Bucky: ok :((**

Bucky presses the top of his phone to his lips. Maybe it’s better this way anyway. Out of sight out of mind. That’s the saying, right? Or is it absence makes the heart grow fonder? Fuck. No, there’s two sayings. Bucky’ll just stick with the first one. That one’s easier to deal with. 

His phone ringing wakes him. The Beatles. _Well shaking it baby now, Twist and Shout. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby now!_ Bucky lifts his head up, heavy and feeling twice the size it usually does. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. Phone’s still ringing and it takes him a second to locate it on the floor. 

“Hello?”   
“Buck?”  
He sniffles, can barely breathe through his nose at all. “Yeah? Steve?”  
“Got a joke for you.”  
“What?”

Bucky’s still stuck between that sleep and awake place, but he’s pretty sure Steve is on the phone. 

Steve laughs. “I have a joke to tell you. You awake, Bucky?”

Bucky rubs his face, ridding himself of some more sleep. Coherency returning, he starts to nod even with no one there to see. 

“Yeah. What’s your joke?”  
“Knock, knock.”  
“Huh?”  
Steve grunts. “It’s a fucking knock, knock, joke, Buck. Now fucking answer. Knock, knock.”  
Bucky grins and shakes his head. “Who’s there?”  
“Chicken.”  
“Chicken who?”  
“Chicken soup for the punk rocker’s soul!”

Steve cracks up on the other end. He’s laugh so hard that Bucky can just picture his cheeks turning red.

“...I don’t get it.”

There’s a knock on the door as he says it. Grimacing, Bucky glances over as if it’ll just answer itself. 

“What’d you mean you don’t get it?!” Steve exclaims. “It’s fucking hilarious. Y’know, cause you’re sick and all…”  
“Steve, there was no pun…” Another knock. “There needs to be a pun for it to be funny. Hang on. There’s someone at the door…”  
“Kay.”

He opens it. Gets the joke. Steve is standing there with a big container of soup, smartass smile on his face. 

“Steve!” Bucky squeaks, voice all hoarse and rough. “I thought you were going out?”  
“I did go out. But apparently I was being a bum. Kept talking about missing you.” He shrugs. “They ditched me after dinner.” Steve holds up the container of soup. “Want some? Ma’s recipe.”  
“You’re the best.”   
“You say that like you’re surprised. Come on. I’ll heat some up for you.”

They end up on the couch and Steve’s soup, or his mom’s soup, is fucking delicious and Bucky’s so happy he doesn’t have to heat up canned soup when he’s sick. Like earlier with Tasha, Bucky snuggles in Steve’s lap as they binge watch How I Met Your Mother on Netflix. 

Steve is playing with Bucky’s hair when he asks, “Hey, Bucky, what happened to the hourglass?”  
“What?”

Bucky looks around the living room. Last he can remember, there’s never been an hourglass. Steve chuckles.

“No, no. Here.” He taps on his left bicep, right under his shoulder. “You used to have an hourglass here. What happened to it?”  
“Oh!” Bucky laughs. “I took it off a few days ago. It was fading.”  
“Hm. I didn’t know you did that.”  
“Oh yeah. Cool thing about this one. I can take the paint off and do them again.”  
“Ah. Do you think…” Steve rattles his head. “Never mind.”  
“What?”  
“No, nothing.”  
“No, what were you gonna say?”

Bucky puts his hand up before Steve can pull his hat over his eyes. 

“Uh, I,” He rolls his eyes when Bucky lifts his eyebrows. Bucky can’t help it. On the occasions that he gets Steve being all bashful, he needs to take a second or two to gloat. “You think, maybe, you’d let… _me_ do one? Y’know, for you?”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. Fuck, he has no idea why he’s never thought of that before. His head is swimming with his cold, but he still grabs Steve’s hand and starts towing him to his bedroom. 

“Where’re we going?” Steve asks.   
“Can you do it now?” Bucky wonders. “You got paint here!”

It’s true. There’s bottles of paints, and brushes, and pieces of charcoal, at least two sketchpads, that Steve’s left here. 

“Wait, _now_?” Steve exclaims. “You want… Bucky, I haven’t even sketched or…”  
“Please? Please, Steve?” He outright begs. “C’mon, buddy, I’m sick and it’ll make me feel better!”

Steve giggles, eyes rolling and head leaning back. He sits down on the corner of Bucky’s bed and shrugs. 

“I mean… I’ll do it if you really want, but… I can’t guarantee it’s gonna be all that great.”  
“It will be.”  
“Okay then. Don’t blame me if it comes out like shit.”

Steve has him sit down at his desk, seats himself on the chair from by the keyboard which he dragged over. Bucky watches intensely as he mixes a few paints. As usual, Steve’s being a little shit and won’t tell him what he’s planning. But, little shit or not, Bucky trusts him. He’s, like, ninety-nine percent sure he’s not going to end up with a penis painted on his arm, which actually means he’s completely sure. Because Steve’s not an asshole. Wouldn’t do something like that. Knows his arm isn’t a joke. 

“Don’t move.” Steve instructs when he’s ready to start.  
“I know. I’ve done this before.”  
“Don’t talk either.”  
“I can’t…”

Steve puts his hand over Bucky’s mouth.

“No talking.”

He goes straight to work then. Face completely immersed in concentration. Bucky’s watched him work before, doodling, going over rough sketches, but this is something completely different. Everything else has disappeared for Steve. Everything, except maybe Bucky. Only the two of them exist right now, in a world that Steve controls, creates what he wants, what he sees, hears, a world that reflects only him. 

It’s dizzying. Electric. Bucky’s pulse beats hot in his ears as he watches Steve’s amazing blue eyes absorbed in his work. If he wasn’t sitting, Bucky would be on the floor. He skin is starting to feel to tight. Blood pumps hard between his legs, and, _yep_ , this is the hottest fucking moment in his life. Hottest and most tender and he can’t even begin to describe it.

Bucky’s mouth opens. Words are going to come out but Steve says, “No,” commanding, authoritative, and it’s a good thing too because Bucky has no idea what he was going to say but he is sure that it would have been something he regretted. 

So Bucky does his best to just stay still which _should_ be simple enough, given he’s a veteran at getting tattoos and piercings and _has_ done this several times before. It’s just not that simple this time. Because he’s so fucking turned on that it hurts and he wants so fucking badly to relieve the ache between his legs that he’s actually biting down on his lip hard enough that he draws a teeny bit of blood. 

He whimpers. Steve shushes him. As far as Bucky can tell, Steve has no fucking clue what’s going on. He’s completely engrossed in what he’s doing and Bucky’s completely lost in Steve. 

After another hour, Steve goes over Bucky’s arm with a few final strokes of his paint brush before setting it down, inspecting it for a few moments and declaring it done.

“‘Kay.” He says softly, holding up the hand mirror to the right height. “You… like?”

Bucky hasn’t looked yet. He’s still too transfixed on Steve, on gorgeous, beautiful, fucking sexy as sin, Steve, to look at anything else. 

“Bucky?” He chuckles. “You gonna look at it? Tell me if I’ve made a total mess of you?”

Bucky grins and slowly lets his eyes drift away from Steve to the mirror. At this point, he should probably be used to Steve’s brilliance. But it still shocks him enough that he feels the need to reach out and graze the glass with the tips of his fingers. What he’s done nearly blows him away. It looks like there’s a shield bursting out of his shoulder, circular, red, white and blue, star in the center. Bucky knows this from a comic book. It’s one of Steve’s favorites. 

“The shield?” Bucky questions, voice barely a whisper and eyes still looking at the reflection.  
“I just thought, you know, it’s like, it can always protect you. Or something.” Steve makes a whimpered moan sort of noise in the back of his throat and reaches for a bottle on the desk. “I have paint remover. It’s still wet. It’ll come off easy…”

Bucky grabs his wrist before he can get anywhere _near_ him with that stuff. 

“Don’t you dare. This is awesome. Best piece I’ve ever gotten. Initial it?”

Steve rolls his eyes through a smile, and does as requested. He’s hovered over Bucky when he’s adding his initials, leans his hand on his thigh. Bucky squeezes his eyes closed until he hears Steve burst out laughing. 

“Bucky, what the fuck?” He laughs.  
Bucky groans. “I’m sorry! I couldn't help it! You don’t know what you fucking look like when you’re working… fucking work of art.”  
“Christ, Bucky.” He murmurs, mouth right at his neck. “You do know you can’t move for a little bit. Don’t want it to smudge.”  
“ _Fuck_ …” Bucky breathes. “Stevie…”  
“Plus you’re sick. Don’t think you should exert yourself.”

Steve runs his hand over the bulge in Bucky’s pants and, _fuuuuck_ , that’s what he’s needed for so goddamn long. Now he’s panting and gasping for breath and…

“Fuck, Steve, feels so good… don’t stop… please…”  
“Gonna make a mess in your pants, Buck.”  
“Don’t care… don’t fucking… ah, shit… uunnnn, oh God, Steve…”

Steve takes his hand away and Bucky peers up at him with desperate eyes and a whimper falling from his lips. Before saying anything to him, Steve lowers his pants. He’s nice and hard, not swollen like Bucky is, but then, he’s not been sitting here aching this whole time.

“Gonna make you watch me for a bit.” Steve drawls, and, fuck, this kid can be a real shit, cause already Bucky’s ready to beg to be touched again. “See how long you can last.”  
Bucky whines, “Steve…”

But he’s not paying attention to any pleas right now. Steve’s sliding his hands, fingers long and paint streaked, over his dick, even smearing a bit of paint on it. Bucky’s mouth falls open even more. Fuck him sideways, he didn’t even think it was possible to get harder than he already was. 

Steve’s head dips forward, eyelids drooped just a littled. He’s working himself up quickly, like he’s watching porn in the privacy of his own bedroom. Then he licks his mouth, bites down softly on his lower lip and hums Bucky’s name.

“Bucky…” His breaths get heavy. “Mmm… fuck, yes… oh, Bucky…” Steve starts to pant, eyes now squeezing closed. “Oh fuck… oh God, Bucky…”

Shit. Holy fucking shit. Bucky’s never seen anyone do this before. Steve’s acting like he’s jerking off at home, jerking off to thoughts of him and, fuck, holy _fucking_ shit, his mouth feels like sand, but Bucky’s fucking panting along with him, thrusting his hips along the back of the chair and good _Lord_ he needs to touch himself. 

“Steve?” He whines. “Please?”

Steve smirks, eyes opening again, and uses his free hand to rub over Bucky’s pants again. Bucky moans, fucking loud.

“Oh, shit… shit, Steve, m’gonna… mmm… not gonna last, fuck… Steve, m’gonna come…”

Steve just nods, and Bucky knows by the way his face is all contorted that he won’t be far behind him. So when he falls to pieces, moans and yells ripped from his throat, and warm, sticky mess is made in his pants, it’s not all that surprising when another wet spot sinks in right above that one just as Steve belts out Bucky’s name. 

He’s still riding the high, the feeling of it all, and Bucky starts laughing and coughing and might sneeze, maybe, doesn’t, and his head is spinning and he groans. 

“Aw, baby,” Steve runs his hand over Bucky’s throat as though that will soothe the ache. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that happen. Someone needed to be the adult here.”

Back down now, no longer sucked in by Steve’s mysterious aura, Bucky gives him a pout.

“Yeah, really.” He sulks. “You were supposed to take care of me.”  
Steve gives him an indignant huff and touches the wet spot. “Uh, believe I _did_ take care of you, dude. Maybe I should just make you sit here like this for a while.”  
“Ooh, no, Stevie,” Bucky wiggles his hip. “Please?”  
Steve chuckles. “Okay, okay. Stand up. I’ll help you get changed.”

Steve helps clean him up alright. He shimmies down his pants and very considerately licks him clean before helping him into a fresh pair of pants. Such a sweetheart. Once he’s dressed, Steve gives him more cold medicine, cause now Bucky’s playing up the baby role again and Steve is rolling his eyes, but totally playing along with him. 

“Can’t imagine what _that’s_ like.” Steve mumbles as Bucky curls up with his head in his lap, whining that he can’t breathe, then chuckles as he runs his hand over Bucky’s hair. “You’re such a fucking baby.”

Bucky’s careful not to disturb the drying paint on his arm as he snuggles against him. 

“M’sorry.” He says. Steve _would_ know pretty well what it’s like not to be able to breathe. “Thanks for tonight, Stevie.”  
“Mm,” Steve leans down and kisses his temple. “Anything for you, Buck.”

______________________

The weather is finally, _finally_ getting a little bit nicer. And by nicer, that means there isn’t frost on the ground every morning and it’s not raining and cloudy every other day _and_ when it’s sunny it might not be absolutely freezing out. Like today, for instance, it’s nearly sixty degrees. Which is pretty fucking awesome and means that Bucky is only wearing his leather jacket when he and Steve meet up after Steve’s afternoon class. 

“Hey, punk!” Bucky greets from the bench he’s sitting on.   
Steve lights up when seeing him. “Hey there, jerk. Let’s walk, okay? Fucking beautiful out.”  
“Good by me.”

They don’t walk that long, cause, well, let’s face it, it’s nicer than it has been, but sixty degrees in March is still sixty degrees in March and there’s still a chill in the air. Steve teases Bucky that he doesn’t want to get sick again, but Bucky’s actually a little worried that the slight rattle in his breathing might mean Steve is getting sick. Steve can’t get sick. Quite honestly, he really shouldn’t have come over when Bucky was sick. If Steve catches anything, he won’t be able to go see Sarah, and his mom’s not been doing to greatest, and she’s turned for the worse pretty fast.

It’s been coming of course. Doesn’t mean it hits any less hard. Sarah’s very weak now, _very_ weak. Hair thin, body thin and frail. She uses oxygen all the time now and Steve is there everyday until she falls asleep, which is pretty early in the evening. 

“You wanna get coffee before we get on the bus?” Steve suggests as they pass a Dunkin Donuts.  
“Up to you, buddy.”  
“Good. I want some coffee.”

Bucky laughs and follows Steve inside. Steve orders himself some flavored coffee and Bucky sticks to a hot chocolate. When they sit down, Steve has a look on his face. There’re thoughts running through that mind of his. Hundreds of them from the looks of it. Bucky grins. 

“What’s going on in there?” He wonders.   
“Um…” Steve opens his mouth, closes it. Looks nervous for a second and then grins. “Y’know. I’ve been thinking.”

Seems he’s settled on one thought, and now Bucky knows that look. Mischievous and troublemaking. 

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles. “What’s that?”  
“There’s a con in Philly in May.”  
“Uh-oh. I did promise you I’d go to one, huh?”  
Steve takes a sip of his coffee and wiggles his eyebrows. “That you did. I…” He pauses to look at his cell. He shrugs at it. “Dunno the number.” Steve tells him before going on. “Anyway, so I told you I wanna cosplay Link, but I wanna save that for the New York con. So you’ll do Zelda then. For Philly, I was thinking… shit… what the hell…” Steve looks at his phone again, makes a face at it. “Hang on.” He answers this time. “Hello?”

Bucky knows immediately that something’s wrong. All the color drains from Steve’s already pale face. World falls apart around him after the first few words. Steve looks like he’s going to throw up. 

“Okay…” Steve’s voice is barely a whisper. “Which hosp… her’s, right? Okay. I’ll be right there.”

Bucky is on his feet before Steve hangs up. He needs to help Steve up. He looks lost, helpless.

“Steve? Talk to me, buddy. What’s going on?”  
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing roughly. “Darcie… Ma passed out. NYU…”  
“Okay. C’mon. We can get there quick.”

Steve nods, but Bucky’s not sure if he really hears him or not. 

The cab ride isn’t that long, but it does seem to take forever. Every red light, every slow driver in front of them, every brake light imaginable. Steve is silent the whole time, ringing his hands out and chewing on the inside of his cheek. Bucky talks for him at the front desk when they get to the wing of the hospital they need to be at. 

Sarah’s awake when they get there, laying down, head back on a pillow and clearly worn out, but awake. The relief in Steve is instant. He snaps awake and rushes to her side, pushing past two nurses and a doctor. 

“Mama!”

She manages to lift her fingers for him to hold onto and gives a weak smile through her oxygen mask. 

“Hi, baby.” She whispers. “D… didn’t… mean to… wo… rry you.”  
“No, it’s okay.” He kisses her fingers and then turns to the medical staff. “What happened? Is she okay?”  
“Uh, Steve, your mother’s blood cell count and oxygen levels dropped pretty low. They’ve stabilized, but we’re going to keep her here overnight just to make sure. You can take her home in the morning.”

He nods and turns back to Sarah. 

“Hear that, Ma? You can come home tomorrow.” Steve wipes her face clean of a little drool. “I don’t want you arguing with me. I’m moving back in. You need me now. I don’t care.”  
“Steve… I… have…”  
“Mama, I know you have Darcie,” He looks over at Darcie across the room. She smiles at him. “And she’s been wonderful. But you need me there, too. I’m not arguing anymore. I’m staying there. Look, I’ll even go out every now and then and everything if it makes you happy.” He hesitates for a moment. “Please say yes.”  
She takes in a few breaths and finally gives in. “Okay.”

Bucky stays the whole time. He has no idea if anyone knows he’s even there, but he doesn’t leave. He’s texted everyone. Lets them know the situation, but has asked them to let Steve be for now.

Steve sits at his mother’s bedside, stroking her hand and helping her sip water through a straw and making sure she’s comfortable. When she falls asleep, the doctor tells Steve it’s best for him to go home.

At first, Steve is reluctant, argues even, argues hard, mean almost. Bucky wants to say something. Doesn’t know how. In the end, it’s Darcie that convinces him to go. Let’s him know that as Sarah’s live-in nurse, she’s permitted to stay all night. 

“If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know.” She assures him. 

Steve is like a zombie again as he walks out of the hospital. Bucky follows him, again, he has no idea if Steve’s even aware that he’s not alone. Even when Bucky hails a cab and they get into it together, Steve heaving an exhausted and desperate sigh, it’s like he’s oblivious to his presence. The ride back over the river, Steve is slouched up against the door, zoned out, but not sleeping. 

There are so many thoughts racing through Bucky’s mind, none of them good enough, not even decent enough to say. Nothing will help. Nothing can take the pain away. Nothing can even numb it for Steve. 

The cab’s not all that close to Steve’s place yet when Steve asks the driver to pull over. Bucky’s tempted to ask what he’s doing, but he just can’t. He doesn’t want to set Steve off at all, so he just goes along with whatever he wants to do and follows him out. 

They’re by the Brooklyn Bridge, walking side by side when Bucky suddenly realizes that Steve’s actually _not_ by his side anymore. He comes to an abrupt halt, almost causing the people behind him to crash into him, and spins around. For a moment, he thinks he may have lost Steve. But then he spots him, just a few feet behind where he’s standing. 

Steve is just standing there. Frozen in his spot. He’s right in front of pedestrian walk, not going any further. Bucky slowly goes back over. He’s not sure what to do. Steve is unmoving, almost unresponsive, staring at the ground, or past the ground, at nothing at all. 

“Steve?”  
“It was right here.”  
“Here? What was…”  
“She said I didn’t have to go in that day.”  
“Steve… what…?”

Steve takes in a deep breath and nods, shakes his head, and then gives one humorless laugh. 

“It was Thanksgiving, and I started getting sick a few days before. I was nine. Had trouble breathing, started throwing up. Jaundice. Wasn’t good. Doctors said to bring me in.” Steve shakes his head and scrunches up his lips. “Didn’t wanna. I was usually real good about it. So brave, that’s what all the nurses always said, ‘oh look at this brave boy’. But not that day. I threw a fit. A real fucking fit. Threw myself to the ground,” He points to the spot they’re standing on, “Right here and just wailed and kicked and punched.” He wipes at his face, but there’s nothing there to wipe away. “I think I may have even hit her, but I’m not sure. People may have stared, I dunno. Ma didn’t stop me. She just sat on the cold ground with me and let me throw my tantrum. I cried. I yelled ‘I don’t wanna be sick no more, Mama’ I told her I wanted to be normal like the other kids. Didn’t wanna have to go the doctors and the hospital all the time. Said I wished I was strong. ‘I wanna be strong, Mama. I wish I could be strong like you, Mama.’” Steve bites his lip and swallows hard and makes a whimpered noise. “There was a, uh, a man selling stuff right over there,” He points across the way, “And she got up and went over. Came back with this.” Steve tugs on his hat. “Put it on my head. Told me ‘You wanna be stronger, huh, Steve? This hat? You put it over your eyes when you feel your weakest and it’ll give you superpowers. It’ll make you stronger.’” Steve finally looks up at Bucky, cheeks now tear streaked. “Hat’s not working so good no more, Bucky. I don’t know how to lose my Mama. Does this pain ever go away?”

Bucky needs to bite his lip to keep it from quivering. He wants to tell Steve yes. Yes, it’ll go away. He’ll only feel it for a little while and then he’ll never feel it again. But he can’t do that. So he shakes his head. 

“No, Stevie. It doesn’t.” When the heartbroken expression passes over Steve’s face, Bucky holds onto his shoulders and tells him, “It gets easier. I swear it does. There’s going to be a big hole, for a long time, a while, and you’ll feel it, always on birthdays and holidays and random days, but… it’ll be filled, I promise. With good times and love and friends. It will.”  
“Bucky…”

Steve leans the edge of his brow against Bucky’s chest and cries for a bit. Bucky holds him in his arm until Steve is saying something about going home. 

They go back to Steve’s place and, really, Steve is doing so much better by the time they get there. 

“I dunno.” He says. “Sometimes it’s easier than other. Sometimes I just… know. I accept it. Other times…” Steve shakes his head. “It’s not okay. And I hate it.”  
“I think that’s pretty normal.” Bucky assures him. “Specially for a punk like you.”  
“Hey!” Steve punches him in the arm. “Watch it or I’ll put on a scary movie and then make you sleep on the couch… by yourself.”

Bucky shrinks away from him as though the empty threat is a very real one. Steve giggles, a fantastic sound that Bucky’s so fucking glad he gets to hear tonight cause who knows how often the guy’s gonna be making it for a while. Just to hear it again, Bucky tickles his sides and when he stops, Steve leans in, peers up and asks for more. 

“Really though,” Steve says when they sit up again. “Thanks for being there with me.”  
“Of course, Steve.”

Steve is looking at him with that million thoughts in his head look again. He looks nervous, like he’s trying to figure something out, wants to say something that he can’t. 

“What?” Bucky asks. “What’s wrong?”  
Steve opens his mouth into a smile. “Nothing.”  
“Hey, c’mon, punk, what is it?”  
“Just that you’re a jerk!” Steve teases, poking him a few times in the ribs. “Sing to me, Bucky?”

Though Bucky’s quite sure there’s a lot more than him singing on Steve’s mind, he lets it go and just does what Steve wants. Sings him his song and has him all smiles. 

They’re in Steve’s bed when it happens, sort of tangled together, not spooning, but neither one holding the other. Bucky’s still awake, Steve is drifting in and out, still attempting to hold some sort of conversation, though his ability to do so ranges from talking about anime to what happened last week at Bucky’s gig all in one sentence. Bucky is gently caressing the side of his face and Steve opens his eyes and rattles his head. 

“Shit. I gotta go to sleep.” He chuckles and yawns at the same time. “G’night.”  
“Night, Stevie.”

Steve stretches a bit, sighs contently, and then says one last thing, the feather of a sentence between the waking world and dreamland.

“I love you, Bucky.”

Bucky’s eyes go wide. It’s usually warm curled up with Steve in his bed. But right now all Bucky can feel is the cold and ice running through his veins.

Because things just got very fucking complicated.


	8. Oops. A Chapter's Here.

Alright so Steve is in love. Totally in love with that bonehead, big softie, punkrocker Bucky Barnes. How can he not be? Falling in love with Bucky was as easy as, well, falling. Just happened, gravity taking hold of him and pulling him down into love’s unrelenting grasp. 

This should be a good thing. Could be a good thing. Would be a good thing.

Not a good thing. 

Pretty much the hardest thing Steve has ever had to deal with in his entire life save for taking care of his Ma. 

Seriously, if someone asked him if he’d mind having his appendix shoved back inside of him and then removed once more instead of having to deal with this whole being in love thing? He’d pick the appendix. 

_Bucky doesn’t have **relationships** with people._ Clint had said. _He just **sees** people._

Steve knows what that means. Understood it then, understands it now. Understands Bucky pretty damn well. Guy’s terrified of commitment, of being left behind and abandoned, like had been done to him lots of time during his childhood and adolescence. Hard thing to let go of, Steve gets it. Doesn’t fault Bucky for it. It does, however, put a damper on things for Steve.

Because other than some miraculous recovery for his Ma, the only thing Steve wants in his life is to scream from every fucking rooftop that he love Bucky Barnes. Not shouting it out to everyone he sees on the streets is hard enough. And those’re just strangers. Not telling Bucky is even fucking harder. 

Whenever he sees Bucky, Steve wants to tell him. Whenever he opens his mouth to say something to the guy, any fucking thing, Steve has to make sure the words ‘I love you’ don’t come out first. When Bucky kisses him, touches him, fucks him, _holy fucking shit_ , when he fucks him it’s the worst. All Steve wants to do is turn those moans into admissions of his love for Bucky, and it’s gotten so close at times that he’s actually had to physically bite his tongue; no metaphors here, Steve’s bitten down on his tongue to keep from saying it. 

Steve’s come close to actually sitting down and telling him. It _is_ what they promised each other they’d do. If anything changes, anything at all, they’d talk about it. Take things slow. See where they go. Talk about it. That was the deal. Steve is the one breaking that deal by not saying anything, by holding back. But… but, _fuck_ , how does he go about telling his supposed fuck buddy that he’s totally fallen in love with him? 

They’d agreed in the beginning that neither of them were looking for anything serious. Not just sex, but not a serious commitment. Is that what Steve is looking for now? A commitment? Fuck, even _he_ isn’t sure. 

On top of it all, Bucky’s been a fucking saint in helping Steve cope with his Ma’s failing health. She’d been doing well for a while, made it through the winter pretty strong. The start of spring though, didn’t hit her well. 

Steve’s not stupid. Wasn’t expecting her to suddenly get up and do some song and dance. But he had hoped, a little, just a tiny bit, that made she’d make it to his birthday. Just one more. It’s clear now that she won’t. She’s fading fast. Faster as the weeks go on. Bucky’s stuck by his side though whenever Steve has his own bad days.

Backrubs when he’s achy, playful banter when the laughs are needed, hugs and kisses just because, shoulder to cry on when he can’t hold the tears back, a physical presence when he feels utterly alone, sex when he needs the intimacy, and good Lord the sex has been in high supply and fucking incredible. Bucky’s been Steve’s fucking rock, his best fucking friend, the first person he’s ever really loved like this. 

Then yesterday happened. That fucking phone call. Of course Darcie couldn’t get service in the hospital wing where his Ma was, of _fucking_ course. That _would_ be Steve’s luck. That’s why he didn’t know the number. She had to use a payphone, needed to call twice. Took him that much longer to get there. 

Steve felt so empty the whole time he sat there, so lost and helpless as he held onto his Ma’s hand, gently ran his fingers across the back of it as she had done for him so many times in the past. What got him through those few hours in one piece? Bucky. He said nothing, did nothing. Didn’t try to say or do anything either. He was just there. 

When he brought him to that spot, his spot just off the bridge, Steve needed to give that to Bucky. No one knew that story--the story of his hat and its “magic powers”, how he got it, where he got it. That place has always felt special to him since then. Ma gave him his strength that day--even though she claims it was inside of him all along. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Steve knows the fucking hat has no special powers or anything, but, still… it just means something to him. 

Steve wakes up when he feels the loss of heat in the bed with him. It’s been a bit of a restless night, not as bad as he was expecting though. He rubs his eyes, sits up a bit, propped up by his elbows. 

“Bucky?”

He’s over by the couch, pulling his shoes on. It’s early still. Steve blinks and checks the clock. A few minutes after seven.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”  
“You’re leaving?”  
“Have to. Forgot I have to go play for Tasha.” Bucky pauses in tying his laces and looks up. “Unless…” Leaving the laces undone, he comes over, sits on the side of the bed. “You want me to cancel? I’ll stay if you need me to.”

Yesterday’s events come crashing down around him. Ma’s still in the hospital, waiting for him to get her out, to take her home. Steve jets up, only to have Bucky’s warm hand on his bare chest to keep him still. 

“Hey, not so fast.”  
“No!” Steve insists. “I have to call the hospital. I have to…”  
“I talked to Darcie already.” Bucky says. “Your mom’s still sleeping. She’s more stable. Doctor said she can go home this afternoon. Later. Darcie said she’ll call you when your mom wakes up.”  
Steve runs his hand over his face. “You… called for me?”  
“Yeah. It’s Friday, kay? You have no classes. Just relax for now.” Bucky stares at him for a moment. He looks… intense. Like something might be worrying him, but then he smiles. “You want me to stay?”  
“Um… “ Fuck yes. Steve always wants him to stay. “No. That’s okay. Go meet Nat. I’ll…” He pauses, studies Bucky’s face again. Something doesn’t seem right. “See you later?”  
Bucky nods. “Sure.”  
“Promise?”

Crooked smile that makes Steve fucking weak at the knees. He’d fall over if he was standing. No idea how this has gone from Bucky being a pile of nerves around him, to Steve being a fucking fool for the guy. 

Bucky presses a kiss into his forehead. “Course, buddy.”  
“See you later, jerk.”

He smiles, sorta, and leaves. Steve lays back down, tries to go back to sleep but can’t. Not only is he worried as fuck about his Ma, something just felt off with Bucky. Or maybe it was just all in Steve’s head. Could have been. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s seen something there that wasn’t there. 

***

Sarah’s discharge isn’t so bad, goes rather smoothly, but… it’s just so much more obvious now that this is it. The end stretch. With Darcie’s help, Steve gets her back home, sets her up in the special home care bed, and she falls right back to sleep, oxygen mask still pumping fresh air into her system. 

Sam and Sharon both stop by with lunch, spend the afternoon with him. His phone’s been none stop with supportive texts and calls from so many people. Not just Rhodey and Clint and Nat and Maria, but Tony and Pepper, who’ve made it clear they’re dropping by this weekend, and Bruce and Betty and Jane, fuck, even Nick, Clint’s boss has texted him. 

Steve’s seriously considering just dropping the rest of the semester, picking up in the fall.

“You’re mom wouldn’t want that.” Darcie kindly reminds him. “You know that.”  
“And you’ll lose your financial aide.” Sharon points out.   
“But, man, if you really need the break,” Sam says, “Take it.”

He’s the only one who’s on his side. Or, perhaps he’s the only one willing to baby him a little. Cause the others all make very good points. So does Sam.

Much to his relief, Bucky makes good on his promise, comes over after work smelling like egg rolls and fried rice with two bags full of food, big ass smile on his face. 

“Hi…” Steve breathes out when he sees him standing outside the door.  
“Hey, punk.”

Steve doesn’t know why he was so worried that Bucky wasn’t going to come back. But here he is, same as always, comes in, kicks his shoes off and puts them neatly by the door. 

“You okay?” Bucky wonders. “Did everything go okay?”  
“Yeah.” Steve answers as he starts digging through the two paper bags for the food he wants. Can’t find it. “Did you bring me dumplings?”  
“Fuck.” He grunts. “Forgot, bud. M’sorry.”

Steve snaps his gaze up at him, mouth dropped open and eyes wide. 

“What?!” He sulks. “How could you forget dump….”

One of Bucky’s million dollar, crooked smiles pulls up on his mouth as he reaches into his leather jacket and pulls out one last foil carton.

“Like I’d forget dumplings for you.” He teases, tossing the carton onto the table.  
“Ah, you’re the best.” Steve laughs. “Or the worst. Can’t tell right now.”  
“Hey.” Bucky goes to take the carton off the table. “I can take them back, y’know.”  
“No!” He reaches out for the food himself and their hands collide. 

For a few moments, they’re a pile of laughter as they’re fingers wrestle for control of the foil carton, damn near ripping the thing in half, and Jesus Christ if there isn’t anyone in the world Steve doesn’t love as much as this fucking guy. 

The evening plays out as normal. Easy. Simple. Even if it’s fucking complicated as all hell on the inside for Steve.

They eat their food, Steve gobbling down most of it with Bucky still making his comments on how he can’t understand where it all ends up. They joke, they laugh. Steve makes plenty of lewd comments, Bucky rolls his eyes and throws napkins at him. They end up on the couch watching television, Bucky’s head in Steve’s lap. Steve thinks it’s hilarious to tie ends of Bucky’s hair together. They cuddle. Cuddling leads to making out. Making out leads to fucking. Awesome, mindblowing, have to hold the screaming in cause other people live here fucking. Fucking leads to more cuddling. More cuddling leads into more making out. Making out leads to another blowjob. They finally fall asleep. Bucky stays the night.

The weekend has plenty of people coming over. Sam and Sharon are there both Saturday and Sunday afternoon, Maria coming by a little bit both days. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and Ms. Carter come over Saturday afternoon, all bringing platters of food. Clint and Nat come both together twice and separately. Bucky stays the whole time, cancelling practices to remain there and only leaves Saturday evening to work a few hours. He gets to meets Tony and Pepper who, as promised, come by on Sunday. 

Steve is so overwhelmed by the support he’s receiving that sometimes he’s not sure what to do with it. Ma’s still alive. Still kicking. Yet all these people have taken a little bit of time to come over to let him know they’ll be here when she’s not. 

Despite the underlying reason for all the visits, Steve feels surprisingly well, good even. There’s friends, family really, all around him. Bucky’s always close enough to touch. 

And then things start to get weird.

Things start to get really fucking weird.

_______________________

What did Steve’s text inbox look like a few weeks ago?

**Steve: Hey jerk! Waht time u coming over?**   
**Bucky: Hmm 8ish? that good?**   
**Steve: don’t be late!**   
**Bucky: You gonna do something about it if i am?**   
**Steve: maaaybe!**   
**Bucky: shit. :( k i’ll be on time**

**Bucky: movies tonite?**   
**Steve: fuck yea that new zombie movie looks killer!**   
**Bucky: … but i**   
**Steve: haha. jk u baby. ur choice. ;) xoxo**   
**Bucky: y ur so mean to me? nvr gonna sing for you again**   
**Steve: yes u will!!**

**Steve: Bucky i can’t take this. I fucking can’t.**  
 **Bucky: wut’s up buddy?**  
 **Steve: school. ma. i should be there with her. she’s so fucking stubborn.**  
 **Bucky: Don’t know anyone like that**   
**Bucky: Stevie u want me to come over?**  
 **Steve: Please?**

**Bucky: Where are u punk? we’re going on in a minute.**   
**Steve: Fuck! Sorry! Fucking lost track of time On my way!**   
**Bucky: ooo. guess whos gonna pay 4 that tonight…**   
**Steve: aaah! sorry! i’m sorry!**   
**Bucky: >:)**

How does Steve’s inbox looks now?

**Steve: hey**

**Steve: u busy tonite?**   
**Bucky: yea practice. sry.**

**Bucky: u wanna do something tonite?**   
**Steve: um it’s late. dunno if i should leave ma.**   
**Bucky: K. sry.**

**Steve: is everything ok?**

**Steve: Bucky r u okay?**   
**Bucky: Yea buddy i’m good. how’s ur mom today?**   
**Steve: not the greatest**   
**Bucky: u need anything? i can bring some food over**   
**Steve: um no thats ok**   
**Bucky: k**

**Steve: um bucky?**   
**Bucky: wut?**   
**Steve: nm**   
**Bucky: k**

Bucky doesn’t come over anymore. Bucky stops by. And when he stops by, he acts like everything is fine. Sort of. He smiles when he comes in, and he puts his arm around Steve and will joke around. But the adorably hot, talented, bashful, sexy, considerate, marshmallow guy Steve fell in love with? He seems to have gone missing. 

There are kisses, sometimes. A little bit of making out and some fooling around. No sex. They haven’t had sex in a few weeks. Bucky doesn’t snuggle up with him much anymore either. They get cozy together, sure, but they get no closer than that. 

This isn’t something Steve is used to. This isn’t _Steve_. Not by a long shot. Steve, well, mildly put, Steve is fucking brash. He doesn’t hold back. Hasn’t in years. And now he is. All since he’s fucking terrified. 

Because he _knows_ what he said to Bucky that night after they got back from the hospital. Knows what slipped from his lips when he was half asleep. Those words. _I love you, Bucky_. Words he’s been desperate to say and trying so hard to avoid. They came out when they were only supposed to be thoughts.

He remembered that morning, with a sudden jolt to his heart and a painful twist at his belly. Made him shake and tremble with apprehension until Bucky showed up that evening. Thought for sure that night it was going to be okay.

Up until recently he was sure that it hadn’t reached Bucky’s ears, thought maybe he was asleep, or that maybe that Steve himself was just too incoherent to make any sense. But now, now he just doesn’t know what to think. Between his Ma’s worsening condition and Bucky changing, Steve feels the two strongest things that rooted him to the world pulling away from him. 

“Steve, you’re coming tonight, right?”

Steve looks up from his sketchpad at Maria. She’s stopped by with Sam and Sharon. They’ve been over for a little while, all talking while the T.V. plays a Spongebob marathon. To be honest, he hasn’t been paying all that much attention to them. 

“Sorry, what?” Steve rattles his head. “Where?”  
“Our show tonight.” Maria clarifies.   
Steve blinks a few times. “You have a show tonight?”  
“Yeah.” She knits her eyebrows. “Didn’t… didn’t Bucky tell you?”

No. No, Bucky didn’t fucking tell him. He has been telling him, even after he started getting all fucking weird on him. Steve’s still been going to their shows even though things have been off. Bucky doesn’t look for him when he’s on stage anymore. But Bucky didn’t tell him about this one.

Steve’s not about to air out any dirty laundry though, so he just says, “Shit. Fuck, I forgot. Sorry, I think I’m gonna have to sit this one out.”  
“Aw, but you haven’t missed one since you started seeing them.” Sharon points out. “You sure, Steve? Don’t you think getting out will do a little good?”  
Sam says, “You don’t have to stay for the whole show, man. Just a little bit?”  
“No. I’m gonna stay in.”

Which he does. Steve stays in. Goes out, instead, in the morning. Bright and early, because he knows Bucky is always pretty energized even several hours after his shows, and Steve can’t, no, _isn’t_ , going to fucking take this anymore. 

Steve knocks on his door, wants to fucking bang on it and just keep banging until it opens, but he holds back. He only needs to knock that once before it opens less than a minute later. Bucky’s the one who answers it, too, in the middle of pulling a shirt on. He looks surprised to see Steve, nervous as well. The two emotions seem to battle across his face.

“H-hey, buddy.” He says. “What’s up?”  
Steve sucks in a deep breath. “What’s going on, Bucky?”  
“What’do you mean?”  
“You know what I mean.”

Steve’s done with this. One hundred percent done. No more song and dance. He’s not some fucking toy that Bucky gets to wind up and play with whenever he fucking feels like. 

Bucky nods and sighs. “Okay. Fuck. Steve, I just… things got… they’re a little too intense. Fast. Y’know?”  
“Okay…” Steve rattles his head. “So you just… decided to what? Drop me? Bad habit and all?”  
“No!” He pulls his eyebrows in. Bucky almost looks confused, as though he’s baffled himself somehow. “I mean, y’know, we can still see each other…”  
“Oh how fucking kind of you.”  
“Aw, Steve, I…”  
“Bucky, is this because…” Steve pauses, hesitates. He thought he prepared himself for this, but, as it turns out, there really is no fucking way to prepare for this. “Is this because I told you I loved you?”

And that’s a big fucking yes when all the color drains from Bucky’s face. Confirmation that, yep, he heard him that night. And this is the fall out. 

Bucky is looking down at his feet. “You said we’d talk first if things changed.”  
“Yeah. I did say that.” Steve agrees. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He cuts himself off. Glares at Bucky even though his eyes are still lowered. “No. No, you know what? Fuck you. Fuck you, Bucky. Who fuck do you think you are?”  
“What?”  
“You don't get to try to make _me_ feel guilty when you’re the one doing the shitty fucking thing!”  
Bucky crushes his jaw. “You told me you _loved_ me, Steve! What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”  
“I didn’t _mean_ to say it then, Bucky! It just came out!” He shakes his head, completely flabbergasted that this can be the guy he loves. “Jesus _Christ_ , Bucky, I didn’t ask you to fucking marry me! I said I loved you! I’m sorry I said it when I did, I shouldn’t have. Should have talked to you about how I felt, yeah, I’ll give you that, but, I don’t know, have you maybe noticed the fucking _dying_ woman I’ve been trying to take care of? Or has she escaped your selfish fucking mind?”

Bucky covers his face with his hands like he’s exhausted. Oh poor fucking baby.

“Yeah, I know.” He groans as he lowers his hands. “This is bad fucking timing.”  
“Bad _timing_?” Steve growls. “Bad fucking _timing_?”  
“What’d you want me to say, Steve? Or do? Wait till after? So then I can be the guy who does this _after_?”  
“I don’t want you to do it at _all_!”  
“I can’t… Steve, I’m sorry, I just can’t give you what you want.”  
“You don’t fucking _know_ what I want!” Steve yells. “Because you never fucking _talked_ to me!” He’s seething, shaking all over and the air coming into his lungs is hot and painful. “Fuck... _fuck_! Jesus fucking Christ…”

It hurts to breathe now. Hurts to think. Hurts to just be. Steve hurts all over and he’s trying to pull his inhaler out of his pocket.

“Here, Steve, lemme…”

Bucky reaches out to help. Steve slaps his hand away.

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch me!” He hisses. “I don’t want your hands anywhere _fucking_ near me!”

For the first time since, well, really a long fucking time, Bucky’s expression resembles something of his old self. He looks unsure, maybe even hurt that Steve’s rejected the idea of his touch. Steve doesn’t care. Not right now, with his chest getting tighter and tighter. He takes a puff from his inhaler. Holds his breath and feels tears backing up on him. 

“Steve…” He murmurs. “Stevie, I’m…”  
“Don’t…” Steve uses what breath he has to say. “Don’t say you’re…” He needs to take in some air, “fucking sorry.”

They just stand there for a few more moments. Bucky’s staring at him, expression unreadable. Steve’s waiting for something. He’s not sure what. Maybe for Bucky to change his mind. Maybe for things to go back to what they were. But they can’t. Not now. Not ever.

Simple.  
Easy.  
Complicated.  
Over.

Steve gulps in more air. It fills his lungs, sure, but he’s never felt so out of breath in his life, like no matter how filled his chest gets it’ll never be enough. 

With nothing left to say, nothing left that won’t be said out of anger and hurt, and Steve doesn’t want to turn into that person, doesn’t want to let Bucky take anything else from him, he turns and starts to leave.

“Steve?”

He pauses, turns to look at him. And decides one important thing.

“Fuck you, Bucky.” He mumbles. “You’ve wasted enough of my time.”


	9. Chapter 9

If there’s one thing Bucky knows a lot about it’s pain. Physical, emotional--lock, stock and barrel. He doesn’t remember much of the accident that cost his mother her life and him his arm. He remembers waking without it though. Remembers not realizing at first it was gone, first feeling the shooting pains throughout the rest of his body. Screaming when he did find out. 

Mom was gone. Becca to take care of. No dad. Why would he come back? He left them in the first place. Physical therapy. Pain in his arm. Cause it was agony. It hurt so fucking bad. But there was no arm to hurt. Learning with his first prosthetic while bouncing from home to home because _who the fuck wants to take care of a goddamn “handicapped” kid_ his second foster dad grumbled a few days after he got there. Stares. Pointing. Laughs. Classmates thinking it was fucking hysterical to poke it, put shit on it, try to take it off. 

Music therapy. Saving fucking grace. Learning to play instruments. On his own a year later. New, high tech, extremely experimental prosthetics offered by Stark Industries. Qualified. More fucking pain. Lots more pain. Learning motion and motor skills all over again, for the second time. 

Yes, Bucky’s no stranger to pain. 

But there’s something about Steve suggesting that he’s been nothing but a waste of time that seems to top the list. It hits him in the chest, bullet wounds, fire and ice all at once. 

It’s nothing less than he deserves. Fuck, Bucky knows he deserves it. He’s spent the past few weeks being a total fucking shitheat, doing exactly what Tasha warned him not to do. Distancing. Maybe even trying to get Steve to feel differently. He tried not to do it. Really. It’s just… fuck, the thought of Steve being in love with him, of the emotions and the feelings and the complications it always brings… he couldn’t, can’t. 

Bucky freaked out. It’s just too much. So much to live up to. He meant what he said to Steve, about still seeing each other. Steve’s right though. He doesn’t need any fucking favors from him, like Bucky’s taking some sort of pity on him. 

All Bucky knows now is that there’s some strange, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something that used to be there and it’s gone now, and he thinks that maybe Steve took it with him when he stormed away. His throat feels much too dry, his head is spinning and the floor doesn’t feel as sturdy as it usually does. 

Bucky doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’s been through this before. But not quite this. Never this long and drawn out, never this intense. Not this connection. A few weeks, some fun, fall fast, fall hard, end it before it’s too late to turn back. 

He’s still standing by the open door, lightheaded and dizzy. Steve probably hasn’t even gotten down to the sidewalk yet. Bucky briefly considers going after him, then changes his mind. It’ll do no good. He yanks out his phone, knows he probably won’t get an answer, but sends Steve a quick text anyway.

**Are u gonna be ok?**

Bucky spends a few seconds staring at the screen as though that’ll somehow make a response appear, make the little symbol with Steve’s name pop up on in. It won’t. With a sigh, Bucky closes the door. Turns around, looks up, feels his heart fall to his feet. 

“I… Clint…” 

He’s standing in the hall, face hard, eyes like stone. Clint says nothing. He just shakes his head and goes back into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. 

“Fuck.” Bucky swears, pushing his head back up against the door. “ _Fuck_.”

Heaving away from the door, Bucky thinks about trying to talk to Clint. Doesn’t know if that’s such a good idea, not after the look he just gave him. It feels like the world is spinning twice as fast around him, going on and leaving him behind. 

He sits in his room, alone, normally at least comforted by his guitars and keyboard and sheetmusic. All he can do is stare at the sketchbooks scattered about. One on his nightstand, one on his desk, one in the corner, one on his dresser. There’s a sketch of his left arm mixed in with his unfinished composition by his keyboard. Paint bottles are on the floor by his desk. Pencils and brushes and charcoal are mixed in with his pens. Steve is everywhere. Even on his arm. And suddenly, Bucky feels sick. 

He pulls out his phone again. Still nothing from Steve. Not that he thought he’d get anything. But he tries again. He has to.

**Steve? Steve can we talk?**

Several agonizing minutes go by and Bucky spends all of them shaking. He gets nothing. 

**Stevie please?**

Feels like there’s no fucking air in this place. Bucky’s knee is bouncing. He checks his phone over and over and over again like it’ll somehow make a difference. He whines and bites his lip, gives in and calls. It only rings twice before going straight to voicemail.

“Hey, fuckers, it’s Steve. Leave something sweet.”  
“S...Steve? It’s… please call me. I…shit.” Bucky hangs up.

A few minutes later he tries calling again. He needs to hear Steve’s voice. Needs to talk to him. 

“Come on. Please.” He mutters as it rings. “Please. Steve.”  
“What?”

Bucky’s heart fucking stops when Steve finally answers. He thought hearing his voice would give some sort of relief to this sudden illness he feels, but it only makes it worse. 

“Steve?”  
“What’do you want, Bucky?”

His name, once sounding so sweet and playful and wonderful coming from Steve, now sounds mean and bitter. 

“I…” What does he want? “Can we talk?”  
He hesitates, but Steve says, “Yeah. Okay. What’do you wanna talk about?”  
“Um…” _Tell me to stop being an asshole. I need you. Don’t leave me. Please._ “Can we be friends? Please, Stevie?”  
“Friends? You want…” Steve’s voice gets hard and angry, but it hitches when he says, “No. I… I’m sorry, Bucky. Maybe…” It sounds like he’s crying and now it feels like Bucky’s chest is being sawed open, “Maybe we could have but… not now. Not after this.”

Everything around him seems to have faded away, and Bucky is left with nothing but that hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wants it to go away, needs it to be filled, and has no idea how to do that now. 

“Steve…”  
“I have to go.”

The call disconnects. Bucky still has the phone raised to his ear. He can’t bring himself to lower it, can’t see past the blurry vision that won’t clear. 

“Steve?” His voice his weak, quiet. “Stevie?” Bucky sucks in a jagged breath and realizes there are tears rolling down his cheeks. “I… I’m so sorry. Stevie, I’m so sorry.”

When he hears the front open and close, then nothing but silence, Bucky creeps back out of his room. Clint’s bedroom door is open. No Clint. One of his drawers are open, and half the clothes are gone. 

“No…” Bucky whimpers, panic wrapping its ugly arms around him. “Oh God. No.”

Clint had warned him, straight in the beginning, when Bucky and begged and pleaded for him to tell him about Steve. He told Bucky he’d leave if he fucked this up, if he hurt Steve. 

And that’s what Bucky’s done. He’s gone and fucked this straight to hell. 

***

Bucky doesn’t remember falling asleep. He doesn’t even remember finding his way back to his room let alone getting into his bed. But he’s waking up because someone’s getting in with him, crawling under the covers and wrapping arms around him. 

He’s dazed, eyes still foggy and nose stuffed from crying, and it takes him a few seconds to register who’s there with him. 

“Tasha?”  
“You okay?”  
Bucky shakes his head. “I did the thing.”  
“I know.”  
“Tasha?” His voice cracks. “I think I fucked up.”  
“Yeah.”  
“What’do I do?”

She runs her hand over the side of his face, soothing, comforting. 

“I don’t know, babe. Just gonna have to see this one through.”

Bucky gasps, trembles, and just cries into her side. 

___________________________

Bucky Barnes ends things with people to avoid complications. He ended things with Steve Rogers when things got complicated. Thing is, life has never, ever been more fucking complicated since Steve’s been gone. Especially the first few days.

Clint was gone. Maria was barely talking to him. Sam wouldn’t answer him. Sharon straight up told him to fuck off. The only one who treated Bucky the same was Tasha. Not that she didn’t tell him exactly how she felt, about the whole situation, that she agreed Bucky fucked up and planned on staying friends with Steve, but she wasn’t going to jump ship on Bucky. 

“Been with you through worse than this, James.” She told him.   
He twisted his lips. “Worse than this?”  
“Maybe not.” Tasha shrugged. “But I’m not leaving you now.”

Five days after it happened, Bucky had been curled up on the couch. No word from Steve despite a few desperate attempts to contact him. It was hard, still is, for Bucky to be in his room. Steve is still in there. Bucky doesn’t have the heart to pack his things and get rid of them or even ask Tasha to send them to him. This month’s Lucky, a little Terrier of some sort, was sitting next to the couch, Bucky petting her head, when the front door opened. 

Bucky sat up. Cold washed over him to see Clint. Someone who usually made him so happy and warm inside, and Bucky had let him down so horribly he was leaving. 

Clint came in, and even though Bucky expected to be ignored, deserved to be ignored, he sat down on the couch next to him. Bottom lip quivering, Bucky just looked at him for a minute until Clint glimpsed over. Once the eye contacted was made, Bucky cracked. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

Clint nodded, clapped a hand down on Bucky’s shoulder, and pulled him into his arms. 

“I know.” He murmured back. “I know.”

More tears, fucking hell, so many fucking tears took over that Bucky was practically bawling. 

“Oh God, Clint, I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me.”  
Clint held onto him pretty tightly. “I’m not, bud. I’m not going anywhere. I love that kid. So fucking much. You fucked up, but… shit, I love you, too. I’m not gonna leave you. You got my word.”

Bucky cried for a long while after that. So much that Clint even felt the need to call Tasha over. Once he calmed down, Bucky called Steve. He answered. Bucky asked again if they could be friends. Steve had the same response. Bucky cried some more. 

***

So what happens when someone like Bucky Barnes does the thing to the one person he actually really truly cared about?

Chain smoking. Lots of cigarettes.   
Impulse piercing. Tongue.   
Impulse tattoo. _Till the end of the line_ on his right pec.   
Fight with his sister. _‘Is Steve coming for Raven’s birthday?’ ‘No that’s over.’ ‘Bucky!’ ‘Becca, don’t start.’ ‘Geez, Buck, when are you gonna stop doing this?’ ‘I’m not getting into this with you’ ‘Bucky, dad left, yeah. And Mom died. We got passed along. But not everyone is going to leave you.’ ‘Fuck off, Becca. You’re the fucking teenager you got knocked up. Who the fuck are you to lecture me?’ Nice, Bucky.’_  
An inbox full of drafts. **Stevie, please talk to me. I miss you so much. I’m so sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot. i need you. I miss your voice. i fucked up. please forgive me. stevie please call me. i miss you steve. why did i do this to you? i want you back. i know i don’t deserve you.**   
More chain smoking. Lots more cigarettes.

Speaking of cigarettes. 

“Hey, you got a light?”

Bucky looks up at the pretty girl coming up to him. She’s dressed nicely. Jeans that fit nicely around her long legs, and a three-quarter sleeved shirt. She flashes a bright smile at him. He nods and pulls out a lighter, holds it between cupped hands so she can light her smoke. 

“Thank you.”   
“No problem.”

She doesn’t leave. Instead, she stands next to him to enjoy her cigarette.

“Hey, you’re in the band, right?”  
Bucky grins. “Yup.”  
“Bucky?”  
“That’s me. Have you been to our shows before?”  
She nods. “A couple.”  
“You like them?”  
“Yeah. You guys are pretty good.”  
Bucky leans his elbow up against the wall. “Only pretty good?”  
She blushes. “Oh.”And giggles. “No. Good, good.”

He laughs. Not a real laugh. Bucky can flirt. He’s a good flirt. A really good flirt. People like to flirt with him. He likes to flirt with anyone. He misses flirting with Steve. He misses the fact that when first face to face with Steve he fucking fell to pieces and couldn’t flirt. But he goes on to flirt with this girl because three weeks have gone by and he hasn’t seen or heard from Steve at all. 

He’s been talking with her for a little while when Tasha appears and gives him a jab in the shoulder. Bucky flicks his brow up at her, tries to give her a convincing smile, but there’s really no point in trying to fool her and anyway, there’s clearly something going on. Tasha’s face is very intense. 

“What?” Bucky asks.  
She says, “He’s here.”   
“He… he is?”  
“Yeah.”

Bucky looks back to the girl and understanding is already written all over her face. She smiles politely at him. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. “I have to go.”  
“It’s okay. It was nice to meet you.”  
“You too!” Bucky has to shout as he rushes back into the bar.

He almost trips over his fucking feet trying not to actually run over to the table Steve is at with all their friends. Seeing him is like a goddamn anesthetic has just been pumped into his veins, pulling Bucky out from under a mountain of pain. Bucky trembles though. He’s sure Steve doesn’t want to see him, but he’s selfish enough that he needs just a few minutes, just to hear his voice, to look into his eyes for just a minute. Just a few more steps will get him there.

The table falls silent when he approaches it. Sharon’s face gets hard. Seems she’s not going to be won over any time soon. Sam’s a little more forgiving and gives him a little nod. Clint is Clint again and just says hello, hey what’s up, dude. Maria’s pretty much herself again, too. Steve… takes a drink.

“Hi.” Bucky says.  
Steve’s eyes drift up to him. “Bucky.”  
“How…” _How’re you? I miss you. Please hug me again. Let me kiss you._ “How’s your mom?”  
“Dying. Thanks.” Steve shakes his head. “Sorry. She’s not doing good. Thank you for asking.”

Bucky just looks at him. Steve’s vivacious blue eyes? There’s something missing. They’ve dulled. Bucky’s not arrogant enough to believe he’s fully responsible for that. Life’s had a great hand in it, but he can’t help feeling at least a little bit guilty. 

“Come on, guys.” Tasha says from behind him. “We’re on.”

He knows he needs to go up on stage, but all Bucky wants to do is stay right here, be near Steve even though Steve’s gone back to talking to the others like Bucky’s not even here anymore. 

So Bucky trudges up on stage behind Tasha and Maria, picks up his guitar and introduces the band. He puts on his normal show of a greeting, gets a rowdy round of applause, blows some (attempted) enthusiastic kisses and waves. Right before Maria would tap out the tempo for their first song--which is supposed to be _Seasons in the Sun_ \--Bucky whirls around and stops her. 

“Hang on.” He tells her and Tasha. “I’m gonna… just gimme a sec, ‘kay?”

Giving them no chance to reply and no further explanation, Bucky steps up to the mic and feels his first round of stage fright that he can ever remember. 

His eyes seek out the only person who matters right now. Steve isn’t talking anymore, and it looks like he’s trying not to glance up at him. He does though. Steve catches his gaze and the second he does, Bucky starts playing. He plays the song only he and Steve know. Bucky only gets through the first few lines of _Steve’s Song_ before Steve shoots out of his chair and bolts out of the bar.

“Shit.” Bucky mutters, slipping the strap of his guitar off his shoulders and absently handing it off to Tasha. “Steve! Steve, wait!”

He chases him down the street, catching up easily because Steve is small and has flat feet and asthma and a body that fucking works against him and Bucky feels shitty about that, but he still puts his hand on the guy’s shoulder to turn him around and when he does it feel so fucking good to touch him again.

“What? What do you want, Bucky?” Steve growls when he turns.  
“I just…” _Oh, God, I just want you in my fucking life_. “Please, Steve, please talk to me.”  
“About what, Bucky?” He sounds genuine, as though he’ll really, truly listen if Bucky actually has something to talk about. “Tell me. What? What’do you wanna talk about?”  
“I… Stevie, I miss you.”

Steve folds his lips in, face contorting like he’s trying not to cry.

“Yeah. I miss you, too.”  
“Then why? Why can’t we be friends?”

The look that questions earns is one of both pity and absolute disbelief. 

“Because, Bucky. Because I told you that I love you and instead of talking to me about it, you were just going to phase me out of your life. How can I be friends with you?”  
“Steve…” Bucky whispers his name, treasures it, holds it with nothing but tenderness and can’t look at him. “I’m sorry.”  
“Okay.” He comes closer, wraps long fingers around Bucky’s hands. Steve looks up at him. “I love you, Bucky.” He says. “I love you. I want to be with you. I want… more than what we had. Dunno what, but… I love you, and I’d like the explore that.”

Steve reaches up and touches Bucky’s cheek with those fingers. It takes all his willpower not to break down again. Bucky’s lip quivers.

_Say it. Say something. Say it back to him, you fucking asshole. Please just fucking say it. Give him something back._

When he doesn’t, cause those fucking words feel like lead on his tongue, Steve nods and gives him a shrug.

“You’re a fucking coward.”  
Bucky’s face falls. “What?”  
“Mister-don’t-let-fear-hold-you-back? You’re fucking terrified right now. And you won’t do a thing about it.” Steve bites his lip, keeping it still. “I made myself the most vulnerable I possibly could and you’re _still_ not doing anything about it.” He wipes his eyes under his glasses before any moisture can escape. “Y’know, for the first time since meeting you? I actually feel sorry for you.” Steve steps up on his toes and presses one gentle kiss on Bucky’s lips. “I love you.”

He leaves Bucky there, standing on the sidewalk and once again taking something away with him. Steve is gone. Bucky is running on empty, left with only one thing.

“I love you, Steve.”


	10. Chapter 10

There are sounds. They haunt Steve’s dreams. They pull him out of his sleep, not that he can get into any sort of deep sleep. 

Beep, beep, beep.  
Beepbeepbeep  
 _beepbeepbeepbeep_

No matter how often he checks the machines his Ma’s hooked up to, Steve is convinced he’s done something wrong. Darcie’ll double, even triple check for him, tell him all is well, but Steve is sure he’s only speeding up Ma’s death. 

Her skin is always cold. Icy. There’s no strength left to her hands. None. That’s what scares him most. Those hands have already succumbed to death. Hands that cared for him, cleaned him, held him, soothed him, wiped tears from his eyes, they’re gone. They can’t even wrap around his fingers anymore. 

Steve sleeps in a chair next to her bed. He won’t let her go when she’s alone. She never let him be alone when he was sick. He’s not going to let her spend one minute of this by herself. 

He hasn’t left since that night he saw Bucky last week. Thoughts of Bucky are too much to bear. They weigh him down, pulling Steve into a deep fucking ocean of endless misery. As if his Ma dying isn’t enough. She doesn’t know--or didn’t, since her mind doesn’t seem to grasp much now--what’s happened. Steve wouldn’t tell her. Can’t bare the thought of her hating Bucky. Steve feels completely alone in all this. Which is ludicrous. He’s far from alone. 

All day long there’s someone around. Steve’s gone and taken that time off from school. He just couldn’t take it anymore. Yet, Steve still feels alone. Because no matter how wonderful his friends are, and they are, and they really, truly are, they’re not Bucky. They’re not the dopey guy with a voice like honey and a touch like velvet. Covered in tattoos, sporting tons of piercing, afraid of scary movies and violent video games. Gorgeous as fuck and sexy as sin, falls all over himself for a piece of this skinny ass. Who loves to be taken care of and also loves to dote and spoil. Who let’s Steve boss him around but will call him on his bullshit. They’re not Bucky. None of them are the fucking piece of shit he fell in love with. 

Bucky’s not here because he’s too afraid. Afraid to let himself go and just open up and fucking love Steve back because loving him back is fucking scary. If he loves him back, Steve can leave, Bucky can hurt, and Bucky’s afraid to hurt again. Steve gets that. But he still feels sorry for him, still fucking pity’s the guy. Still hurts inside and out.

Ma is going to die. Soon. Hours soon. Steve is sitting in that fucking chair just staring at her body, frail, just a shell of her former self. Her chest moves up and down, so slowly, just barely. His life is coming undone and there’s no one here.

It’s late. Darcie is asleep; she doesn’t know. Steve knows. He can feel death’s grip around her, he’s felt it around him before, had her chase it away and there’s nothing he can do for her.

“Mama…” He whispers when only shadows can hear him. “Please don’t leave me.”

Steve holds her hand, tries to warm it even if it’s no use. Time is no friend to him. It keeps ticking away, taking Ma further and further from him. 

When her eyes open, they don’t look right. Glazed over, but they still find him.

“Mama?” Steve murmurs. “You… water? Do you…”

Her lips move, slightly and he can just make out what she’s saying.

_Love you, Steve._

“Mama? I love you.” Steve holds her hand even tighter and starts to shake his head because she closes her eyes and those fucking machines start making that horrible sound; long, one last final pitch. “No… Mama! No, Mama, don’t leave me! Please!” Steve keeps trying to get her hand to hold his even though it hasn’t done that in weeks. “Mama, come back! Please, come back!”

He continues begging her to come back, keeps asking her not to leave him, tears leaking out of his eyes, body trembling so hard his teeth clatter together, even as Darcie turns off the machines and makes phone calls. At some point Steve collapses back into the seat by the bed and buries his face into his arms, resting on her side. 

There are people there, Steve thinks, somewhere in the far off distance. Someone puts their hand on Steve’s shoulder. He shakes it off, blubbers something about leaving him alone with Mama. The hand comes back.

“Please…” Steve sobs. “I want her back.”  
“I know, Steve. But you gotta let them do their job.”

Steve lifts his head and turns around. There’s medical staff all around, people here to collect Ma’s body and take her away. He looks up to the one talking to him.

“Sam…” Steve’s voice cracks, “she’s gone.”  
“I’m so sorry, Steve.” He holds his arms out and helps him up and Steve falls into them, starts to wail and just can’t stop.

People come over early. Sharon gets there just a little while after Sam. She’s been holding Steve almost the whole time. Whenever she’s not, Sam is. Steve is not holding it together at all. It’s a really good thing that he’s got such a great family, that’s who these people are, they’re family, because he can’t handle this on his own. Clint and Nat show up with breakfast. Maria comes with more. 

Thank everything holy for Darcie, too, since she’s called hospitals and all the medical facilities. Sam’s been making calls and when he’s not Sharon is, and Steve doesn’t even care how fucking useless he is. He just feels numb. His phone’s been going off all day, but he can’t answer it. Someone does for him, giving out some information, accepting condolences and even jotting down messages for Steve so he has them. 

The first spark of something he feels other than loss and sorrow is anger when someone, he’s not really sure who, says, “Has anyone called Bucky?”  
“I don’t want him here.” Steve grumbles. 

There’s a collective glance among everyone there, Steve can see it and the thoughts that pass through their heads. He’s surprised that it’s Sharon who voices it.

“I… I think that’s a mistake, Steve.”  
“You’re the one who said you wanted to punch him in the face.”  
She nods. “Yes, I know. Because I’m mad at him. I don’t really hate him though. And he loves you. He’s going to want…”  
“No.” He growls when she says that. “I _don’t_ want him here. And I don’t want any of you fucking telling him either.”

They all do that stare thing again, each of them sharing a glance with one another. 

Sam says, “Steve…”  
“ _No_!” He shouts, hands slamming down on the table they’re at. “I don’t need his fucking pity. Don’t want it! You promise me! All of you! Don’t you fucking tell him! I don’t _want him here_!”

Steve gets their promises, slowly, reluctantly, but he gets them. What he says isn’t true though. Not even fucking close. Deep inside, all the way through, he _does_ want Bucky there. He _needs_ Bucky there. But he _hadn’t_ been there when he needed him most. Would have been, if Steve asked. Just one mention of it and Bucky’d have been right at his side. Will be now, too, if he asks. He’d hold Steve and sing to him and kiss him and let Steve cry on him. And if he comes now and then leaves again… Steve doesn’t know how much heartache one person can possibly handle. 

***

Wanna know one good thing about watching a loved one slowly deteriorate? Going through the tormenting process of watching the life gradually slip out of their body? Funeral and burial arrangements can easily be made way in advance. Great. 

Casket. Polished, pine. Opened.  
Dress. Pink, short sleeve. Mama didn’t like to be hot.  
Flowers. Calla Lilies; Ma’s favorite.  
Pictures. All her favorites, including the ones Steve hated.  
Church. Our Lady of the Lourdes- Roman Catholic.  
Pallbearers. Steve, Sam, Tony, Rhodey, Bruce, Clint.   
Readings. Micah, Corinthians, John-14.  
Eulogy. Mrs. Wilson.  
Music. Ave Maria, Amazing Grace, Wind Beneath my Wings.  
Limo. One.

Steve only wanted a one day service. He couldn't go through it all two days in a row. He just couldn’t. Not with people coming up to him and telling him how sorry they were and how nice Sarah was and what a good job the funeral parlor did. _She looks really good_ they say. No. No she doesn't. She doesn’t look good; she looks fucking dead. Ma is dead and she’s not coming back.

All Steve wants to do is fucking scream and instead he has to stand there, inches away from his Ma’s dead body and shake people’s hands and force small talk and pretend like he’s holding up inside when really he feel like everything is falling apart. 

It’s a beautiful day. Really it is. The sun is fucking shining high up in the sky and it’s warm out, warm enough that it’s a little too hot to sit in the back of the limo without tuning the ac on while wearing a fucking suit--same Steve wore his showcase. He’s wearing his hat. Doesn’t give two shits if people think it’s weird. Doesn’t care that he’s gotten a few weird looks as a result of those thoughts. Ma would understand. Bucky would, too. He’ll take it off in church. Respect and all. 

Mrs. Wilson’s eulogy is nice. No, like really fucking nice. Sharon’s mom may have known Ma longer, and was honored when Steve asked a few months ago--Steve understood when she said she didn’t think she could do it--but Mrs. Wilson’s few years getting to know her served them well. She makes people laugh. And then cry. She cries herself. And then they smile and laugh again. Steve smiles, too. 

_Wind Beneath my Wings_ starts. Nat and Maria sing it. Fucking Nat and Maria, who Steve’s only known for a little more than half a year and here they are, Ma’s funeral, singing. That should be Bucky singing. Bucky’s comforting voice. But he’s not here. That’s Steve’s doing, yes, but he’s not here. He’s not up there singing and he’s not next to Steve. Ma’s gone for good. Bucky’s not here.

Someone puts a hand on his back, rubs up and down. Steve’s sobbing again. It’s Sam. Steve leans into him. 

Ma’s next to Dad now. Steve doesn’t remember much of Dad, but what he does remember is a smiling face, strong hands and piggy back rides. Ma loved him. 

So many people have hugged him. Wrapped arms around his body and asked how he’s holding up and told him they’ll do anything if he needs them. There are people he hasn’t seen in years, bits of the small family has flown in from across the country, friends returning from the lives they’ve started. 

Tony’s paid for a luncheon. Arranged transportation and everything because as arrogant and shitty as the guy can get, he’s one of Steve’s closest fucking friends and the last thing the guy wants is for Steve to go hungry--even though he now has two refrigerators filled with fucking casseroles and cold cuts. 

Steve is trailing behind his group of family-friends. There’s a quiet murmur of conversation going on. Not what Ma would want. She’d want laughter and joking, not this eggshell walking and tension. Everyone is going to go off to Tony’s luncheon, probably something over the top, knowing Tony and all, and fuck, it’ll probably make everyone laugh, like Ma wants. And if there’s a goddamn Heaven like Steve really fucking wants to believe right now he knows she’s pissed the fuck off at him for being such a downer. But he can’t do it. 

Body trembling, Steve feels that all too familiar pang of white hot fire build up in his chest. He pulls out his inhaler. It feels too light. Gives it a shake. He’s been using it a lot lately. There’s not much in it. He breathes some in and watches his friends get further away before slipping off unseen.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky’s starting to panic. Something is wrong. He may be an asshole. No, he _is_ an asshole. But he’s not an idiot. There’s something wrong. 

Did he fuck up again? If he fucked up Tasha would tell him. He knows she would. That’s what she does. 

But it’s been four days and Clint’s been gone, Tasha’s not around, Maria’s not around, and no one’s been talking to him beyond drips and drabs and he’s sure he’s done something wrong again. 

Which is why his inbox is full of:

**Bucky: Dude where r u?**   
**Clint: just out right now. got something to take care of**   
**Bucky: r u coming back?**   
**Clint: I’ll be back. don’t worry, buds.**   
**Bucky: did I do something wrong?**   
**Clint: No no! ur ok.**

**Bucky: Tasha, what’s going?**   
**Tasha: sorry baby i can’t talk now**   
**Bucky: please talk to me. something’s wrong**   
**Tasha: i know. but i can’t.**   
**Bucky: Tasha?**   
**Tasha: everything is going to be ok. luv u bucky**   
**Bucky: luv u**

**Bucky: u don’t hate me too right?**   
**Maria: no one hates you loser**   
**Bucky: steve hates me**   
**Maria: no he doesn’t. things are bad.**   
**Bucky: where are u guys? please tell me**   
**Maria: can’t right now. will later**

**Bucky: look i know u fucking hate me but is everything ok?**   
**Sam: I don’t hate you. can’t talk right now**

Bucky doesn’t know what to do. The past week has been pure hell. If he thought it was bad beforehand? It was nothing compared to this. 

Steve’s right. Bucky’s a fucking coward. He wants to share his life with someone so badly, has _always_ wanted to share his life with someone-- _fall hard, fall fast_ \--and he’s too fucking scared to do it-- _freak the fuck out,_. And now he’s said the words out loud. _I love you, Steve_. 

Right, he may have only said them to the nighttime air, but they’ve come out. The words left his heart and body, hover over him like a constant reminder of what he had and lost, and now he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

Day four of his friends’ disappearance act has officially been underway for hours now. He hasn’t gotten many answers from them today. Bucky was hoping that maybe today the mystery would be solved. It’s gorgeous out. First really, _real_ spring day in April. May starts up next week. He thought maybe they could take a walk through the park, or just a walk, or something.

Get outside, take the new Lucky for a spin. Sure, Bucky could do that on his own but… he’ll be alone. And Bucky, for all his pushing and distancing, doesn’t want to fucking be alone. Greatest parlor trick of all fucking time, right? Guy who’s so scared of being alone finds the one person who he loves more than anything and manages to push him away until he finds himself all alone. Ta da! 

It’s getting late, late into the afternoon when the sun casts golden beams into windows. Bucky’s passed out on the couch. Not much to do when you’re sitting around waiting for someone, _anyone_ , to fucking get in touch with you, when his phone starts going off. It jogs him out of a light sleep. One of those huh-where-am-I-zoned-out type sleeps. He wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth and needs a moment to gather his bearings, not quite sure why he’s no longer sleeping. Lucky is licking his hand. 

He pulls his arm up and it registers. Lazily scratching the back of his neck, Bucky looks at his vibrating phone and blinks at the screen, surprised at the caller. He’s not sure if this is good or bad.

“Sam?” There’s still sleep in his voice.  
“Bucky?” It’s noisy in the background, but Sam’s voice just manages to come in clearly. “Bucky, is Steve with you?”  
“Steve?” He shakes his head as though Sam is there with him. “No.”  
“Fuck. Shit.” Sam swears. “He’s not there.”

Sam’s talking to someone else now and now Bucky has time to let this sink in. They’re looking for Steve, because they don’t know where he is. Something’s wrong.

“Sam?” Bucky shouts into the phone to pull his attention back. “Sam! What’s going on?”  
“Bucky, look, fuck, I’m sorry, don’t panic…” That doesn’t diddly shit to help keep him from panicking. “Steve’s mama died.”

Bucky can actually feel everything draining from his body, cold replacing it all. Steve’s mom. Gone. And he’s been sitting here sulking.

“Holy shit.” He breathes. “Sam…”  
“No, listen, Bucky…” _Oh no_. “She… she died a few days ago.” _Days ago?_ “Steve, he… fuck, we shouldn’t have listened. He made us swear we wouldn’t tell you.” Which now explains where everyone’s been. “Fuck, Bucky, I’m so sorry. We should have told you.”

No time for that now. Bucky’ll deal with the pain of the knowledge that Steve hates him so much he didn’t even want him to know that his mom died another time. Right now there’s something else going on.

“S’okay. What’s wrong, Sam?”  
“It’s just…” He hesitates. “Bucky, we can’t find Steve. He disappeared after the funeral. That was around noon. It’s been almost four hours. I know he’s a grown man and all, but…” There’s a hitch in his voice; he’s trying not to cry. “Bucky, he’s not doing good. Not handling this. At all. I’m fucking worried. We all are. I…”  
“Sam, I’m going out to look for him.”

Bucky hangs up, throws on his shoes, and runs out the door. 

He tries Steve’s place first. Stupid and obvious, but he needs to try. No luck. He gives school a shot, stops at the campus coffee shop, asks if anyone has seen him. No one has. Bucky goes to some of their places. Bucky’s job. Nothing. The bar from Halloween. No. The diner from Halloween. Nope. Some of the bars Steve came to see them perform at. No Steve. Places they had sex at. Empty. 

Bucky calls and calls and calls Steve’s phone, but it’s off. Goes straight to voicemail every time. Everyone’s probably trying to do that anyway. He even calls Becca. Crazy, but worth a shot.

“No, Buck, I…” She pauses. “If I hear from him you’ll be the first to know, okay?”  
“Yeah.” This is the first time they’ve spoken since they argued. “Becca, I… I’m…”  
“It’s okay, Bucky. I love you.”  
“I love you, too.” 

Bucky’s at one of the many Dunkin Donuts Steve and he have frequented, laughed at, played with each other at. This is the one where Steve scooped whipped cream up on his finger and smeared it all over Bucky’s nose and Bucky smudged it back on his cheek, then licked it off. Steve’s not here. 

He’s called Sam back and Sam’s called him, and Sharon’s called him. So has Tasha, Clint, and Maria--all with heartfelt apologies that Bucky’s fucking rushed them through because he doesn’t care about that right now. All he cares about is finding Steve. Making sure he’s safe. His friends Tony and Pepper, along with Bruce and Betty are searching Manhattan. Talk about needle in a haystack. 

This is so fucking different than all those times Bucky’s felt sorry for himself, reasonably, of course. He’s pretty sure it was okay to wail in the hospital bed when his mother was dead and he was left with only one arm. Then again when he elected to have risky surgery to attach a metal arm to his body and the initial cold, heavy sensation that felt like it would never go away. Times in between those. 

This is for Steve, for someone who he can’t see and touch at the moment. Steve is in pain and he can’t do anything for him. He’s so fucking helpless, so powerless and weak…

Bucky gasps, an idea growing larger and larger inside of him.

“Shit. Holy shit.”

Where would Steve go if he was feeling helpless? Powerless? Weak? 

Some place that gives him superpowers of course.

Bucky doesn’t know if he’s ever moved so fast in his fucking life. By the time he gets to the bridge, he’s pretty sure his legs have no feeling left in them. But they somehow keep on moving. 

And right there, sitting just off to the side of the pedestrian path, knees up against his chest, hat pulled down over his eyes, is Steve, and Bucky’s never felt so much fucking relief in his life. The sleeves of his white button down are pushed as far up his arms as they can go and he’s sitting on his suit’s jacket. 

First thing Bucky does is text Sam. 

**It’s ok. I got him.**

**Sam: fuck thank god. is he ok where r u?**

**Bucky: idk. haven’t talked yet. i think so. kinda private. gimme a minute with him?**

**Sam: ok. i’ll let everyone know.**

Bucky slides his phone back into his pocket. He takes in a deep breath and slowly goes over. Steve doesn’t move when he’s near him, maybe doesn’t even know that there’s someone there. His chest his trembling a bit, leftover gasps from crying. Bucky crouches down, takes note of all the empty beer bottles in the plastic bags next to him.

“H-hey, buddy.” He murmurs.  
Steve goes rigid. “You’re the… fucking last person I wanna see right now.”  
“Yeah…” Bucky breathes out. “I know. Everyone’s real worried though.”  
“I bet.”  
“Steve? Did you drink all this?”  
“Hat wasn’t workin’. Hadda get sometin else.”

Bucky takes a chance, huge fucking chance, and gently lifts the brim of the hat. There’s no protest. Steve peers up at him, big eyes wet with tears, red and puffy, and they make Bucky’s heart break all over again. 

“Mama’s gone.” Steve whispers.  
“I know, Stevie.” He says softly, wiping tears from Steve’s face. “I’m sorry.”  
Steve’s face crumples. “You weren’t there.”

Bucky holds back tears. Needs to for Steve. He’s right. He wasn’t there for him when he needed him most. 

“I know.” Try as he might, Bucky’s voice cracks.   
“You were supposed to be there for me.”  
Bucky can’t hold in these tears. “I’m sorry.”

Steve’s tears turn angry. He lashes out and punches Bucky in the chest. It doesn’t hurt, not much. It probably could if he wasn’t so drunk and actually focused on hurting him. But Bucky lets him go ahead and hit him. 

“You weren’t there!” He shouts and hits again.   
And Steve lets Bucky go ahead and cry. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

And Steve cries, hits Bucky, and Bucky cries and lets Steve shout and hit him over and over until he pulls him into his arms. At first Steve fights him off and Bucky isn’t going to force him into a hug if that’s not what he wants, but then Steve latches onto his shirt and pulls himself in.

“You weren’t there, Bucky.” He sobs into his shoulder. “You fucking weren’t there.”  
“Steve… I’m so sorry…” Bucky has him wrapped up in his arms and fuck if it was up to him he’d never let him go. He’s got his face pressed between his neck and shoulder, trying so damn hard to stop crying cause what right does he have to cry? But he just goes on bawling, and mumbling, “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

Bucky has no idea how long they stay like that, but after some time Steve’s small voice starts asking him to take him home.

“I wanna go home, Bucky. Please?”  
“Okay.”

He’s not sure which home he means, his place or Sarah’s, but he figures his is the best option right now. Maybe too many reminders at Sarah’s at the moment.

A few minute cab ride gets them there. Bucky wasn’t going to chance the fifteen to twenty minute walk with Steve so drunk. Steve shed silent tears the whole time, still held on tightly to him. Still does, even as Bucky tries to put him down on the couch.

“Bucky…” He whimpers.  
“Sh.” Bucky tries to comfort. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Only that must be the wrong fucking thing to say because the very second he says it Steve’s desire for Bucky to not leave shifts like the goddamn wind and he shoves him away.

“ _Fuck_ you!” He roars as much as he lungs will let him. “Don’t you fucking touch me! I fucking hate you! I hate you!”

Bucky holds his palms out. Steve is drunk. Out of his mind, mourning the loss of his mom drunk. He probably should have seen this coming.

“Okay.” Bucky backs off. “Do you want me to call Sam? Sharon?”  
“I don’t want _anything_ from you! I fucking…” Steve scrunches his face in pain. “Fuck…” He struggles to take in a deep breath. A breath at all. “God damn…”

Steve starts patting his pockets, then looking all over like he’s lost something. His inhaler probably.

“Is it in your jacket pocket?” Bucky asks. 

It’s on the recliner, but Steve probably has no idea. Probably doesn’t even know he’s not wearing it. Anger’s gone again. He look up at Bucky, pain in his eyes. Nods his head. Bucky checks for it. Sure enough, it’s in the left one. He hands it over to Steve.   
Steve shakes it, then rattles his head. He’s starting to shake from not breathing right. When he tries to breathe his medicine in, his eyes go wide.

“Bucky…” He squeaks out.

He’s still not breathing right. Steve starts shaking his head back and forth, panicked. It only takes Bucky a heartbeat to figure out what’s wrong. The inhaler is empty.

“Steve… Steve, where’s your other inhaler?” He asks quickly.  
Tears quickly fill his eyes and he just shakes his head, mouths, ‘ _Mama’s_ ’.  
“Fuck… shit, Steve, what’do I do?!”

Steve is moving, trying to go somewhere or tell him something, but he’s drunk and can’t breathe and panicking, and Bucky’s trying so hard to stay calm but there are raspy gasping noises coming from Steve like he’s choking on the air itself. 

“Steve!” Bucky shouts when he falls into his arms. “No! Steve don’t do this to me! Please! You need to tell me what to do!”

Steve’s lips are starting to turn blue. They’re trying to form words, trying to get something out. There’s something Bucky needs to do for him, Steve’s told him, but his fucking mind won’t work for him. All he can see his Steve’s terrified face staring up at him, pleading with him for help. 

And then it hits him. Where Steve was trying to go, what he needs Bucky to do for him.

_Carry this guy with me everywhere_. Steve said to him the first time he came over and showed him his inhaler. _Got an epipen in the kitchen for real bad ones._

Later on, another time. _Epipen first. 911 second. Gotta get me breathing if you wanna get me to the hospital, jerk._

“Okay, okay okay.” Bucky mutters, placing Steve down on the couch and racing into the kitchen. 

Most everything is cluttered in Steve’s place, and that includes the kitchen. What it doesn’t include is the one thing Bucky needs right now. Steve’s epipen is in the one open slot of his silverware caddy, cause he doesn’t care where his teaspoons go, he says. 

Bucky runs back over with it. Steve’s eyes are closed now, and Bucky scoops him back into his arms.

“No no no.” He whimpers. “You don’t do this to me, Stevie. You’re gonna be okay.”

Steve’s explained how to do this. Mimicked it, acted it out for him. Doing it is an entirely different story. Bucky stills Steve’s thigh and presses the pen down into it, holds the button for what he hopes is ten seconds. The longest fucking ten seconds of his life. 

He doesn’t even realizes he’s holding his breath until he releases it when he hears Steve take in a quick, sudden, and somewhat intense breath of his own. Steve’s eyes pop open for a few seconds, land on Bucky. He’s panting, shaking all over. 

“Oh God…” Bucky cries, holds him closer and kisses his head. “Steve… holy shit…”

Steve just looks at him, dazed, completely out of it, body still trembling and closes his eyes again. It’s time to call 911.

Ambulance show up in about four minutes. And after the longest ten seconds of Bucky’s life, he goes through the longest four minutes of his life. He’s a fucking wreck the whole time, won’t let Steve go, as if releasing him will somehow bring on another asthma attack or something. Makes it difficult to let the EMT’s in. So he does need to let him go when they get there. 

When Steve is loaded on a stretcher, oxygen mask over his face, Bucky falls apart all over again. He looks like that little boy from those home movies. Sick and frail, fragile, and Bucky’s sure that he’s going to lose him.

“Can I… go with him?” He asks one of the EMTs.  
“Are you family?” She asks.  
“I’m his…” Fuck it. “Boyfriend.”  
“Okay. That’s fine.”

He’s following down to the ambulance when Bucky realizes he needs to let the others know what’s going on. Trembling hands make heavy work of trying to call Sam. Only Sam doesn’t answer. It’s even harder trying to call Sharon.

“Hello?”  
“Sharon?” His voice holds the unmistakable pitch of panic and crying.  
“Bucky, what’s wrong?” She can hear it, too. “What’s going on?”  
“Steve… they… he had an asthma attack…” He gasps, a few times. “Going to the hospital…”  
“Okay. Okay, listen to me, Bucky. I know how scary that is.” She takes in a deep breath. “But he’s going to be okay. He’s breathing now, right?”  
“Mhmm.” He’s holding his breath, trying not to cry even harder.  
“This isn’t the first time this has happened. Probably won’t be the last. It’s scary, honey, but it’s okay now. Steve is going to be just fine, okay?”  
“Okay.” Bucky whispers.  
“Bucky?”  
“Yeah?”  
“You did good today.”  
Bucky wipes tears from his eyes. “Thank you, Sharon.”

Doctor says Steve really just needs a good rest and he’ll be okay. The asthma attack was a bad one, but it could have been a lot worse if Bucky wasn’t there. The hospital pumps Steve full of fluids. Bucky’s glad. On top of everything, poor kid doesn’t need to suffer a fucking hangover, and after all the beer he drank, it would have been a doozy. 

Everyone came to see Steve. Of course they do. Because everyone loves this fucker. Once they all see Bucky they give him apologies again. Hugs too. Tasha holds onto him for a really long fucking time. 

“It’s the eyes.” He tells her. “Hard to resist them.” She actually looks like she might cry. “I’m not mad. I promise. I deserved it.”

 

Bucky’s not sure whether or not they agreed with that, but no one talks about Steve’s decision to withhold his mother’s death from him. Moot point now anyway.

“He’s probably just gonna sleep through the night.” Sam says to him as the rest of them are getting ready to leave. “I think it’s safe to go home.”  
“No. Not leaving.” Bucky answers, still holding onto Steve’s clammy hand like he has been the whole time.

Bucky wasn’t there when Steve needed him the last time. He _was_ there when he passed out. And he’ll be there when he wakes up.

***

Falling asleep in a chair sucks. Head doing that wobble thing and all. Almost in that deep sleep, maybe about to dream when, whoops, head droops and damn, awake again. Bucky doesn’t mind all that much. He’d like to be awake when Steve wakes up anyway, although, awake and zonked are probably two different things and at this point he’s riding a very fine line between them both. 

But when the fingers in his squeeze around his hand, Bucky’s head simply lifts, and he finds himself staring into the most precious blue eyes he’s ever seen. He love those fucking blue eyes, and Steve’s mouth pulls up into a weak smile.

“Hi, jerk.” Steve breathes out.  
Bucky sucks in a jagged breath. “Hey, punk. You scared me.”  
“M’sorry.”  
“Don’t do that again, okay?”  
He lifts his eyebrows. “Can’t really make that promise. Sorta out of my control.”  
“Yeah. I guess it is.”

It’s quiet for a little bit and they just stare at one another. There’s still an oxygen mask over Steve’s face and all, but Bucky can see that smile fade a bit. Not completely though.

“You’re an asshole.”

Steve means that. He’s not being funny or playful. He means that one hundred percent. And he’s right, too. Bucky nods, lips trembling.

“Yes.”  
“Why are you here?”   
“Because…” Bucky lets the few tears fall, “I love you.”  
“Ah…” Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Took you fucking long enough. Seriously, all this had to happen for you to admit it? I couldn’t just… buy you a guitar pic or something?”

Bucky laughs though his tears, kisses Steve’s hand and never wants to stop.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”  
“Don’t ever do that again, okay?”

He nods again. Fuck, Bucky’ll do whatever this skinny punk wants as long as he’ll let him stay in his life. Bucky’s still kissing Steve’s hand, gently running the back of his along his cheek since Steve probably doesn’t have the strength to do it himself. 

“Okay.”  
“Bucky, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Mama. I should have. I…”  
“No, Steve, I understand…”  
Steve shakes his head. “No, I was wrong. It was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. Say it’s okay, please?”  
“It’s okay, Stevie.”

His eyes close, contented in Bucky’s forgiveness, as if he needed to be forgiven. 

“Sing to me?” He asks, eyes still closed.  
“Yeah. What’do you want me to sing, Stevie?”  
He pulls the mask down. “My song.”  
“Okay.”

Bucky sings softly, running his hand over Steve’s hair as he does. He’s on the last verse when Steve open his eyes again and Steve doesn’t let him sing the last line. Instead, he interrupts and says it for him.

“Shut up, jerk, gimme a kiss.”

Bucky grins, leans over the bed and presses his lips against Steve’s. There’s not much strength to it. Steve is still pretty weak, but where it’s lacking in strength, it’s made up for with passion and promises of something more. Bucky leaves their brows touching. Steve’s eyes are closed again.

“Say it again, Bucky.” He whispers.  
No need to clarify, and Bucky says, “I love you.”  
Steve smiles. “I love you, too.”

Bucky’s scared. That hasn’t gone away. Things are scary and they’re complicated because that’s what love, walking on air and everything, seems to bring with it. 

But Bucky Barnes will take scared and complicated over not taking a chance on being with Steve Rogers everyday of the week and twice on Sundays… and all the cliches in the fucking world. Cause yeah, he’s that worth it. 

Besides, Bucky _did_ fall in love with Steve the moment he saw him, remember?


	12. Chapter 12

Steve is still a little shit. Nothing’s changed. He still makes Bucky beg and squirm and whimper. Still bosses him around and makes him blush and pretends like he’ll really make him watch scary movies. 

Sex is still fucking amazing. Nothing’s changed. Sex with Bucky has Steve coming sometimes three or four times because Bucky has learned how to fucking read his punk ass little body so well. Steve still has to control himself in nearly every fucking place they go because he _still_ wants to jump his balls all the fucking time. 

Bucky’s voice still makes Steve melt. Nothing’s changed. Steve is trying to figure out a way to have sex with it, because, fucking hell, he really was serious that night at the diner when he said he wanted to. Bucky still sings to him on request.

Steve’s still going to school. One more semester to make up for the one he didn’t finish. Nothing’s changed. Maybe slightly. He took that internship at Wonder Comics last summer. Worked daily with Peter Parker and some of the coolest men and women coming up with comic panels. Now works part time there on the weekends. Steve’s not doing all that much except basic office work, but he’s fucking there. Gets to sit in on the process. Also gets told he has a lot of talent and has a bright future in the business. Okay, maybe Bucky was right. 

But Steve was right, too. Because come fall, Bucky’s going to NYU. He’s been accepted into their undergraduate _honor’s_ music program where he’ll be studying composition and has already attended courses there fine tuning his voice. Which is why he’s finally ditched the fucking cigarettes. For the most part. Steve takes great enjoyment in coming up with ways to get back at him for sneaking a puff here and there. 

The Winter Soldiers are still rocking hard. Nothing’s changed. They still have a small fan base and still play shows once or twice a week and don’t have any plans to stop soon. Maybe one day they’ll hit it big. Here’s hoping. 

They went to the con as Link and Zelda. Planning this year as Ana and Elsa. Nothing’s changed.

And yet. Nothing is the same.

It’s different somehow. Steve can’t really put his finger on it. It’s not better, he can’t say that. It’s just… different. Bucky is his. He’s Bucky’s. And they _both want_ it that way. And it feels good. 

Steve is sometimes a big fucking sap, too, and he has _no_ fucking idea how that happened. He’ll buy Bucky flowers and blush if Bucky gets him flowers and say these silly little romantic things to him and get all smiley if Bucky says them to him (like the fact the _till the end of the line_ is actually an homage to him, c’mon how can he not get all giddy at that?) and, fuck, how did this shit even happen?

Bucky still gets scared sometimes. Has freak outs that Steve will hold him through or make him laugh through or just let him deal with on his own because he’s always come back after a day or so. It happens less and less now. He's gone back to therapy. Has stuck with it this time. Found a doctor that seems to suit him and listens even when she tells him the things that he really doesn't want to hear.

Sometimes it’s scary. Sometimes it’s complicated. Sometimes it’s both. Neither of them knows where they’ll be another year from now, a month from now, hell, a week from now. But they know where they want to be _right_ now. With each other.

This precise moment, right now is the huge lake house in the Hamptons. Fourth of July. Steve’s birthday. Compliments, again, of Tony. It’s just Steve and Bucky this year. Everyone offered to come up. They’d have another big birthday blow out. Last year, with Ma gone, first year without her, everyone took him out. Wanted to distract him. Keep him busy. Steve got too drunk. Ended up sick, head in the toilet. Crying. Passed out in Bucky’s bed and sick the whole next day. Bucky took care of him.

This time around, Steve asked if they wouldn’t mind if he just celebrated with Bucky. He didn’t expected Tony to still hook them up with the lake house, but, lo and behold, here they are. 

Fireworks are going off in the sky. Steve can hear them, catches glimpses of them, too. But he’s far too concerned with the fireworks he’s setting off in his boyfriend at the moment.

Hand down Bucky’s pants, they’re sitting on the deck, perfect view of the lake. Steve is in Bucky’s lap, so his position is _just_ a bit awkward, but fuck if he cares, not with Bucky panting behind him and whimpering pleas of mercy into the back of his neck. Steve can feel their sweat mixing together and grins.

“Fuck… _fuck_ …” A firework drowns out Bucky’s next swear. “Stevie… _please_ … uuuhhhfff…”

Steve works his thumb over the tip of Bucky’s cock, spreads the precome over it, lathers it in real good, enough that Bucky moans.

“S’my birthday, Buck.” Steve says, leaning back and sucking on his neck. “Gonna give me what I want?”  
Bucky’s mouth hangs open as he struggles to answer. “W-what’d you w-want, Stevie?”  
“Want you to make a nice mess in your pants for me, Buck.” He drawls. “I like when you’re a mess for me.”  
He whimpers. “Mm… Stevie…”  
“You gonna gimme what I want? For my birthday?”  
“You know I will…”  
“Good.”

Steve takes his hand away and chuckles when Bucky whines. He takes Bucky’s left hand, bringing his fingers up to his mouth.

“Finish off.” He tells him. “I’ll watch.”

Bucky licks his lips, another needy whimper rising out of his throat and Steve start sucking his fingers into his mouth. Steve knows he can’t feel this, but Bucky says watching it, watching Steve suck on his metal fingers is something he can never describe. Makes him a hot fucking mess. Like it is right now. Bucky’s panting even harder, swallowing hard and probably wishing that was his dick in Steve’s mouth. Steve grins around his fingers and within seconds, Bucky is stroking himself.

His eyes are totally focused on what Steve’s doing to his left hand, like he can’t get enough of that. Steve knows he’s getting close when Bucky starts whispering his name, just like he likes him to. 

“Steve… oh, Stevie… m’close… m’gonna…”  
“Come, Bucky… just for me…” Steve encourages. “You know how I love it. You’re so fucking beautiful when you come for me, you know that?”

Steve gets another one of his whimpers, and fuck, he loves that. Loves that he can still make him whimper, hopes that’ll be something that never changes. Bucky’s a fucking sucker for praise, especially at times like this. Another firework goes off and wouldn’t you know it? Bucky shoots off at the same time and it’s kinda a good thing because even though he’s normally pretty good at stifling himself when he has to--there are several other houses around the lake--he doesn’t really pull it off this time. 

His fucking yell echos just enough that _they_ know what it is, but other people will have to venture a guess. They’ll probably guess right, but they’ll still have to wonder. Steve laughs, pressing kisses into Bucky’s neck, face, lips, and Bucky comes down from his high and starts laughing too.

“Fuck, Steve, you’re the worst.” He chuckles.  
“No I’m not. I’m the best.”  
He kisses him back. “I hate you.”  
“Nah.” Steve flashes him a cheesy grin. “You love me.”  
“Fuck.” Bucky grumbles. “You got me there.”

Steve gives him one quick know-it-all look before cuddling up against him. With an uncomfortable groan, Bucky shifts and squirms a bit.

“You’re not gonna let me change?”  
“Mm…” Steve considers it. “Not yet. It’s my birthday.”  
Bucky scoffs. “Why do I feel like _everyday_ is Steve’s birthday?”  
“Because I usually get what I want?” He shrugs. “I told you that right away. Don’t complain now.”  
“Who’s complaining, punk?” Bucky digs fingers into Steve’s ribs, wrapping an arm around him so that he can’t get away.

Steve yelps and wiggles, bursts out giggling and even snorts a bit.

“Bucky!”

Laughing, Bucky lets up, kisses Steve’s neck, and grazes his fingers under Steve’s shirt just enough that it tickles a bit more. Because he fucking knows how much Steve wants it to tickle again. Steve jerks into his side, scoffing another laugh. 

When he gets caught in the steel gaze of Bucky’s eyes, he fucking melt a little more inside.

“Kiss me, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles and does it. Kisses him and doesn’t hold back. Steve climbs on top of him, straddles his lap and, fuck, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough of this guy. He pulls back, stares at him some more. 

“You know that hole you told me about?” He asks.

Bucky doesn’t need him to clarify. He knows he’s talking about his Ma, the absence left in her death. 

“Right here?” He points to Steve’s chest.  
“Yeah. I felt it today. I feel it everyday, but it was really big and deep this morning.”  
“I know.” Bucky kisses the spot. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

Bucky reaches up, strokes the side of Steve’s face, and Steve moves into the touch. 

“S’not so bad right now.” He goes on to say. “Think you fill it up a bit. I’m glad you’re here, Bucky.”  
Bucky guides him down so he can kiss him. “No place else I’d rather be, buddy.”  
“Sing to me? My song.”  
“You got it, Stevie.”

Steve kisses his hand the whole time he sings to him. Loves kissing Bucky no matter where his lips are touching.

“All your time  
Seems wasting on away  
But I’m here to tell you  
You’ve never gone and wasted any day

It’s in your steps and in your touch  
In all those smiles  
The breaths  
And all your laughs

Won’t you see the light inside you?  
All the folklore lost in time?  
It breathes the life that forms around you  
And every heart you touch it grows in size

There’s one thing I need you to  
Always understand  
That when I take your hand  
It’s cause you make me strong

I feel bad for all the losers  
Who always looked the other way  
They’ll never have someone like you  
To help protect them every day

So tell me when I’ve made  
A big enough fool of myself  
Then say…”

Steve says the last line along with Bucky.

“Shut up, jerk, gimme a kiss”.”

And Bucky does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! Thank you so much for reading! I wish I could have written more of this since I totally fell in love with this Steve and Bucky. But I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I loved writing it!
> 
> Feel free to check out my other fics or me on tumblr at [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) a place for mostly Steve and Bucky, and Marvel and the kick ass actors who are all so totally their characters.


End file.
